


A Rest That Peace Begets

by DesertWillow



Series: Atish'an [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Art, Character Death, Digital Art, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lyrium Withdrawal, Red Templars, Rite of Tranquility, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertWillow/pseuds/DesertWillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Red Templars kidnap the Inquisitor and turn her Tranquil, Cullen will do whatever is need to rescue the woman he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the poem "Weep You No More, Sad Fountains" by John Dowland.

**Part 1**

 

_“I will reshape the world to my will, starting with the tool.”_

* * *

 

Caitlin came slowly to wakefulness because of the rough, shaking fingers tracing her branching _vallaslin_. Her green eyes met hazel ones, watching her full of wonder and worry.

“Cullen?”

Once he realized she was awake, his expression slipped from worried to anguished. “Maker, Cat, I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice was coming in gasps, like he’d just run drills in the yard.

The Inquisitor stifled a yawn, wiping away the drool and hair stuck to her face. “What are you doing up, _vhenan_?”

She received no reply and he turned to look away, watching the fire, the shadows, anything to avoid meeting her gaze.  

More awake now, Caitlin placed a hand against his cheek. Beneath the ever present stubble, his skin was clammy and cold; she felt him tremble despite the warmth from the hearth. “Cullen, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

She was sure it was one of his nightmares, but she didn’t understand his reticence. Cullen had woken her up plenty of times with his thrashing. She would pull him from the Fade, and he’d brush off the dream like a broken quill point: an unavoidable annoyance. Normally, he would hold her against his broad chest, give her a kiss, and be snoring shortly after.

Instead he rolled away, pulling the blanket around him. “It’s nothing. Just a nightmare. Sorry I woke you.” There was a finality in his tone that gave her pause. She’d only heard him speak like this when ordering his men — or on bad days when he had pushed himself too far.  

She could see the sheen of moisture on his neck, his hair a mess of tight, sweat-dark curls.

She scooted forward to comb his hair with her fingers, letting them trail down his neck as she replied. “I woke you up plenty after Adamant with my own nightmares.” An involuntary shiver rolled up her spine, as it did every time she remembered the spiders. Her old scars shone in the firelight as she shifted, a permanent reminder of the horrible monsters.

“That was different,” he insisted.

She arched an eyebrow. “How?”

He sat up, leaning forward to brace himself on his forearms. The hair she had been playing with stood up like a mabari’s hackles. “You’re on the frontlines, all the time. You should take every chance you have for rest, and I should do everything in my power to help, even if it means losing a few hours of sleep.”

“So this,” she waved at the space between them, “is just to make sure that the Herald of Andraste is in fighting condition?”

His eyes finally snapped to hers, horrified at the implication. “Maker, no!” His shoulders fell, the tension within breaking. “I-I didn’t mean—” He swallowed. “I _wanted_ to comfort you! I didn’t like seeing you hurting and scared.”

“But I’m just supposed to roll over and go back to sleep when I find you like this?” She sat up, and gave his trembling hand a reassuring squeeze with her own. When he audibly gulped but still remained silent, she continued, hoping to draw him out, “I was made my clan’s First when I was seven. I have never shown any hint of fear to anyone since then, worried they’d think me susceptible to possession. That was until I met you.” She brushed her hand down his face; shadows from the fire revealed the ghost of a smile there.

“Mages are allowed to have feelings. Your Keeper didn’t teach you that?”

 _Unless you’re made Tranquil_ , she thought. But that was unfair, and she kept the comment to herself.

“I’m sure she must have tried at some point. I probably ignored her.” That got the chuckle she was aiming for, even if it was a bit shakier than she would have liked.

“I didn’t want anyone to think me weak,” she continued more seriously. “I didn’t just find the nearest available shoulder to cry on; I came to you because I love and trust you. No one else has seen me like that since I was a child. I want to be able to do the same for you. So, please, talk to me.”

He shook his head. “I-It was— Maker, it was just a memory from when the Ferelden tower fell. A friend died, and I—” He fell back onto the pillows with a firm thud that shook the large bed. His voice was thick, as if his tongue were a palpable weight. He took a deep breath and rubbed a hand across his face, as if trying to wake himself up or wipe the dream away. “I haven’t had that particular dream in years. I just—” He heaved a frustrated sigh when he couldn’t find the words. “It’s ridiculous.” He looked over at her with resignation.

Now that Cullen was actually talking to her, she felt the worried knot in her stomach unfurl. She started to untangle herself from the sheet she’d kicked toward the foot of the bed in her sleep.

She leaned over him, pushing a corkscrew curl away from his forehead.

“It’s not ridiculous if it affects you this much,” she told him firmly. She rested her hand on his temple, gently soothing away the wrinkles across his brow; it was scrunched up, as if he were fighting one of his headaches. Despite his previous reluctance, he immediately nuzzled into her touch. He kissed her palm when it came near his dry lips, covering her small hand with his own.

She only noticed her diminutive size when he was gentle with her. Facing down a high dragon? A giant qunari threatening to play toss the elf? Standing in a crowd of shemlens that she couldn’t even see over? She could take them all down if she had to, and she knew it.

But one former templar putting her hand in his, and she was asking herself how she even functioned with her tiny, tiny hands.

Simply reorganizing his tousled hair had made a difference. The pinched look was starting to disappear, and he wasn’t shaking as badly. She threw a pale leg over his hips and sat down.

It had taken Cullen a while to trust her enough to use even a little bit of magic. Now, he just relaxed into the mattress, tension melting away as her magically warmed fingertips relieved the pain he was too proud to acknowledge.

His hands came up to rest against the underside of her bare thighs, his thumbs mirroring the circles she was rubbing along his head.

“Her name was Surana. She was an elf— a mage who had just gone through her Harrowing- my first Harrowing. After she was killed in the rebellion, a demon took her form while it—” he stopped when his voice cracked. He swallowed and his eyes flickered toward the dark window facing the courtyard.

Caitlin continued to massage his head in silence. It had taken her long enough to get him to this point; she wouldn’t push him.

He lips were thinned out as he gathered his thoughts. “I-I had a bit of a crush on her,” he confessed, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

“On a mage?” she blurted out, stopping her massage.

“Nothing happened,” he swore. “Nothing ever could happen. She was my charge and it would have been improper.”

She resumed rubbing his scalp. “The demons- they used it against me. Took her form when they tortured me. When I woke up next to you…” He took a steadying breath. “Lyrium can make you hallucinate, but so can the withdrawal. I just- I needed to make sure you were really here with me.”

“Would sleeping separately be better, or—”

She started to pull her hands back but he captured them with his own, bringing her words to a halt.

He didn’t continue speaking until he had caught her in his gaze. There was an intensity in his eyes usually reserved for staring down his soldiers. “You being here helped.” She watched his Adam’s apple bob while he tried to find the words. “It used to take me a while to shake that dream off. It’s easier now; _you_ make it easier.”

She smiled softly at his confession and nodded her understanding. He put his hand back on her thigh and eased into his pillow.

“It’s late,” he murmured, hands now running down her back and along her bottom. “You should go back to sleep. You said you wanted to leave for Emprise tomorrow?”

Caitlin shrugged her agreement. “No official plan though. I can leave whenever. Rather hoped I could get away with lounging around in bed all morning with my advisors none the wiser.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Well, one might figure me out…”

She caught his chin in her hand and dragged her thumb across his lips. “I’m going to miss you.”

Her admission was rewarded with a sweet, boyish smile, chasing the past horrors away. “I’ll miss you too. I warn you though…” He smirked confidently. “I’m going to reset the board to undo all of your cheating.”

She scoffed and stabbed her finger at his sternum. “I do not cheat, serah.”

He arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “Then how did my queen suddenly go missing?” he deadpanned. “Because I’m certain you had yet to capture her.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Caitlin sniffed haughtily. The white marble piece was actually hidden in the top drawer of the desk on the other side of the room, kept company by a knight and a pawn.

He stared her down. “And I’m sure that my mage wasn’t next to your pawn, just waiting for you to take it.”

She rolled her eyes dismissively. “It’s been over a week since we started that game. There’s no possible way you could remember.”

“It’s not possible for me to have both mages on white, love.”

_Shit._

His stupid tactical mind always got her in trouble.

He cocked his head, waiting for her reply. “No denial?”

Alright, best to play dirty.

“I love you?”

His expression softened with a quirk of his scarred lip, but there was a gleam in his eyes. It wasn’t going to be that easy.

“I love you, too.” He leaned up to kiss her. She leaned forward to oblige him, but before their lips met, “Expect the board to be reset when you get home.”

She shoved him back down, but he just laced his hands behind his head, a conceited grin spreading across his face.

She glared down at him. “Dorian’s right. You’re insufferable when you get smug.”

He just chuckled and continued to smirk.  

He needed to be stopped.

She covered his mouth with hers, and the response was instant. He slid his arms around her body and pressed her into him deepening the kiss. It was almost as if he had predicted her response, and she had played right into his trap.

_Stupid tactical mind._

His mouth parted and she enjoyed the feel of his warm tongue sweeping across her chapped lips. She opened for him and let her own tongue taste his.

It was slow, sweet — languorous even, but it held the hunger always present in their more intimate kisses. Cullen put his hands on either side of her face and rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs. She let him take his time; if she was going to leave the next day, she would need the memories of his lips just as much as he would of hers.

She rolled her hips forward, eliciting a thrust from him and gasps from them both. She could feel the growing dampness where she straddled him and was certain he could as well. A hand slipped down her neck, down her back and stopped on her hip. It helped guide her motions, giving her enough balance to move against him in counterpoint. She was pressed flush against him, but when she felt the other calloused hand leave her face to brush against the outer edge of her breast, she arched her spine. He eagerly took advantage of the better access.

With an assured brush of his thumb across her nipple, she bit her lower lip. When he rolled the puckered flesh between two rough fingers, she turned her head, letting out a soft moan of pleasure.

She didn’t realize she had turned her ear closer to his mouth— not until he dragged his teeth across the sensitive tip, provoking a much louder moan.

“No fair,” she gasped out. “Now who’s cheating?” She should have never let him discover how sensitive elven ears were.

A deep, rolling chuckle was his reply.

Pressed closed against him, she took in his scent: leather, steel, and the cold scent of lyrium that tingled her nose and filled her lungs. It was because he was once a templar, she knew; but when they were like this, turned on, sweaty, pressed tightly together, the scent was so uniquely his that it made her want to do all sorts of wicked things.

Caitlin turned back to face him and pulled his mouth to hers, the kiss a heated clashing of lips and tongues and teeth. She dragged her fingers through his hair — for her own pleasure this time — relishing the curly mess only she was allowed to see.

She was thoroughly wet now, her slick covering her inner thighs and his groin. She could feel his full erection pressed up against her bottom. Caitlin sat up and tucked a bit of dark hair behind pointed ears. With hooded eyes and a coy smile, she reached back and grazed a finger teasingly along his length.

His eyes closed as he bucked underneath her; he arched his head back, corded muscles straining in his neck. She was the more vocal one in their lovemaking, but with his jaw clenched, biting his lip, it looked like he was doing everything he could to keep from calling out.

She took him firmly in hand guided his length in.

A hissed out, “Fuck, Cat!” was her reward; she loved that she could make her blushing Chantry boy swear.

Caitlin relished in the pleasant stretch of Cullen filling her. She wasn’t sure if he was particularly large for a human, but she found she always needed a moment or two longer to adjust for him.

With his hand still on her bottom, she flexed her strong thighs, building up her momentum, loving the feeling of him moving within her.

He caught her in his gaze again, the intensity made more intimate by flushed cheeks and soft pants. She certainly hoped he never used _that_ look on their soldiers.

The large hand on her ass moved along her hip bone, splayed wide to balance her as she ground against him, panting. The new position allowed his thumb access to her slick folds, rubbing circles that offered relief and sweet torture all at once; his other hand released her breast so he could tightly grip her fine Orlesian sheets.

She could feel Cullen bend his legs behind her; his feet dug into the mattress, letting him better set their pace.

It was quicker and more frantic than their usual love making. Cullen usually teased out her release, making her a writhing, moaning, begging mess beneath him.  Now, he was angling his hips in such a way that let him hit that spot in her _just_ so. His thumb was circling her clit with the _perfect_ amount of pressure. Her own fingers were teasing her nipple _just_ right.

“I’m close, _ma vhenan_ ,” she gasped out in warning.

“I am too,” he moaned. He redoubled his pace, grinding up into her so it was not just his thumb that was rubbing her toward her release.

Caitlin moved against him quickly; close, so close, so close, so close…

Her hand clenched her breast as she clenched around him, giving voice to her pleasure with a low moan.

She continued to pivot her hips against him as she came back to herself, feeling that he had not followed her in his own release.

She looked down at his face, his eyes closed tight in concentration, his fist still clutching at her sheet.

Now just a little too sensitive, she moved his hand back to her ass and leaned forward. She enjoyed the change of angles, riding out her aftershocks. Caitlin nibbled Cullen’s stubbled jaw, whispering against him, “I’m here. Let go, my love.”

Either the words or the changing angles were enough, but he pushed up, his own silent orgasm pulsing in her. The hand on her was still gentle, but his other hand clenched the sheet in an unyielding grip.

She relaxed against Cullen’s chest, laying her head on his shoulder, listening to his panting breath and her hammering heart. His hands ran up and down her back, alternating from light finger grazing to his full palm covering her sweat dampened back, holding her close to him.

“You are very good at that.” She had intended to sound matter-of-fact, like she was discussing troop movements or the dinner menu, but it was ruined by her breathlessness.

His own voice came in light gasps. “’m glad you think so.”

She could feel his cooling seed drip from her and the light was now dim, the fire having died down to embers.

“I should put another log on the fire,” she whispered.

His large hands swept up and down her back. “I’m fine,” he replied, guessing correctly that it was for his benefit and not hers.

“You’re fine now,” she asserted, “but I’m going to kick the blanket off in the night, and even a Fereldan would think the Frostbacks cold in the morning.”

Eventually, reluctantly, she got out of the bed.

Still a little weak kneed and tripping over the plush carpet, she padded over to her bookshelf and grabbed the potion of silphium she needed to drink to prevent any unexpected curly haired, elf-blooded babies from popping up. As unopposed to the idea as she was, it wouldn’t do until Corypheus and the fade rifts were dealt with once and for all.

She threw a few logs on the fire. Personally, she was always just a little too warm, but if she didn’t do it, Cullen would just stubbornly ignore it and the cold tended to make the withdrawal pains worse. If he ignored it, it would go away. It was why he always told the builders that the hole in his roof was fine and to go and work on something else. Acknowledging the pain gave it power. Or something. She just assumed he’d like to not sleep in the snow.

When she stood up and glanced back at the bed, Cullen was leaning on his arm, watching her, eyes molten in the renewed firelight. He had pulled the blanket up to his hips, his free arm casually draped across his side.

“I should have that painted,” she commented lightly.

She watched his brows draw together. “Have what painted?”

“You, looking very smug and relaxed. The very picture of a well-used lover.” He snorted in reply. “I’m sure it would be a great cover for one of Varric’s novels.” She paused, thinking. “Actually, I think that cover already exists. I think I own it.”

She could practically hear him roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You have terrible taste in books.” He raised his hand, crooked his index finger. “Now come back here.”

Caitlin sauntered back to her large and ridiculously ornate bed. He dragged her down, wrapping the blanket over them both.

She curled up to him, and he rested his forehead against hers. “What did I do to deserve you?”.

“I think leading an army to stop an evil magister darkspawn thing seems at least enough to earn a girl who hogs the bed and never takes anything seriously.”

He chuckled. “I guess you’re right.” He placed a kiss across her brow, and she heard him inhale deeply.

He shifted them so they could comfortably look into each others eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear once again.

“I’m betting you’ll be up before me,” she said.

He nodded nonchalantly. “Probably.”

“You should wake me when you get up. Otherwise I’ll just sleep the day away and never get around to leaving.”

He started to pull away. “I really didn’t mean to wake you. I—”

“Cullen,” she pressed a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “It’s fine. I promise.” She slipped a leg between his own and rubbed herself against him to make her point clear. “I _really_ didn’t mind,” she stressed. “It was more a remark on my own laziness than about any late night activities I may have enjoyed.”

“May have?” His hand wrapped behind her small head, and he pulled her into a scalding kiss. Between the wet tongue fully exploring her mouth and the fingers teasing her ear once more, she was beginning to get her second wind. She returned his enthusiasm and dragged her nails softly down his chest, going lower and lower. He moved his hand, placing it on hers, stopping her midway to her goal.

“It’s not that I’m not up for it, and I’d admit to not being ready to sleep. But if we start, it would be a while before I would willingly let you go.” His voice was husky still.

She gave him that coy smile once more. “Promise?”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You were just saying how hard it’s going to be getting up in the morning.”

“Fine. Be all responsible.” She rubbed a thumb down his lips. “But I demand a raincheck.”

He nipped at her. “You’ll get it.” A kiss. “I swear.”

She settled back down, but at a more chaste distance. Like he had been doing when she woke up, Cullen resumed tracing her _vallaslin_.

“Did you intend for it to match your eyes?” he asked.

“Not on purpose,” she huffed. “I wanted it to be like the forest where we sometimes camped in winter. Big pine trees that stay green all year. I think _harhen_ — my Keeper, I mean — altered the color I picked out to make it closer to my eyes, though.”

“Well, it does look like pine trees now that you mention it. It suits you, I think.”

“I do, too — but I was so annoyed at the time. I didn’t make a sound through the whole ceremony, but oh did I yell once I got a good look at it. My brother kept having to smack my hands to stop me from picking at it, not letting it heal right.”

He gave her a soft, fond smile. “It means something, correct?”

She pondered how to describe it. “More like represents something. They’re symbols of our gods. Mine is for Mythal.”

“Did you pick her — him — for a reason?” He propped his head back on his arm, eyes wide as he looked over the winding branches. She hadn’t realized he was so curious about Dalish culture.

“Her,” she answered, “and at the time, I would have sworn up and down that I picked Her because She’s the Great Protector, representing my duty as the clan’s future Keeper.”

An eyebrow raised in amusement, knowing her general dislike about being the First of her clan. “And the real reason?”

She sighed, leaning in to share her great secret, lowering her voice to block out the copious amount of eavesdroppers laying in wait in her empty room. He matched her position, glancing around, checking for spies as well. “I picked it because I just thought it was pretty. And,” she looked down, feeling her cheeks start to flame, “She’s also the goddess of love.”

“Quite the romantic in your youth?” The quirk of his lips as he snickered tugged at his scar and her heart… among other things.

“More like a silly thing, chasing after a man several years her senior. I hoped that Mythal would help me if I honored her.” After Cullen sharing his youthful crush, she wished to give them equal footing by sharing her own.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” She gave an artless shrug, mangled from her position on her side. “I got older, realized he just thought of me as a child. And, I realized he was spectacularly dull.” She pulled a face in revulsion.

His hazel eyes were warm and soft and finally starting to grow drowsy. “It worked in your favor in the end.” As usual, his natural shyness overtook his military bred self-assurance. If his position had allowed it, she was sure he’d be nervously rubbing his neck. “I-I mean, that is—I hope that I prove to be a more interesting companion.”

“Much.” She gave him a quick kiss to punctuate her point. “I can’t imagine you ever trying to give me a lecture on the different kinds of halla dung.”

He rolled onto his back, roaring with laughter. “Maker’s mercy, I hope not!” She loved hearing his laugh. It was this rich thing that warmed her every time, and always lower pitched than she expected, like it was coming from deep within him.

“Good.” She followed him and nestled into his embrace, his arm curling securely around her. “And as long as you don’t, I have every intention of keeping you around.”

“Good.” He kissed her _vallaslin_ once more and she laid a leg over him.

Though he seemed truly settled, she worried about how Cullen would handle the time apart. She had rarely seen him so shaken by a nightmare.

Eventually, she managed to drifted back to the Fade with the sound of the crackling of the fire in her ears and the feel of her lover under her cheek, softly snoring, off in his own dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the smut and fluff of this chapter, the warnings for this fic are there for a reason...
> 
> Many thanks to my team of editors, especially Lythnia for helping me kick this chapter into shape.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you can spot the Office Space reference...

Cullen came to consciousness quickly, old soldiering habits strong. He never lingered in that haze between the Fade and the waking world, even when waking naturally.

Cat’s warm fingers twitched against his stomach. He cracked an eye open, the sun filtering through the Serrault glass window higher than he would have expected. Apparently the trick to getting more than four hours of sleep was to let a beautiful woman exhaust you.

Cullen sat up and dragged a hand through the chaos of his hair. He took a deep breath of chilled air; the fire had gone out sometime after their enjoyable interlude. Cat had acted as his personal furnace, keeping back the worst of the cold, but her warmth hadn’t been enough; his body ached with withdrawal.

He leaned down and brushed dark strands of hair away from Cat's drooling mouth, tucking them behind her ear. His fingers were steady as he traced her _vallaslin_. Last night, it had been out of a desperate need for reassurance: she was real. But in the morning light, his touch was softer now — stable — certain of her.

“Cat,” he murmured. “We should get up.” He ran a hand down her arm, skin rough from the faded spider bite scars. “Cat...” He kissed her brow. “Caitlin...” He finally resorted to shaking her. How had he even managed to wake her last night? She slept like the dead. “We should get up.”

She groaned into her pillow. “Don’t want to.”

Cullen chuckled. “You _did_ ask me to wake you.” He traced his fingers down her spine.

A muffled ‘no’ came from Cat’s pillow. “You’re making that up,” she mumbled.

He rolled his eyes. “I assure you, I’m not. It’s already mid-morning.”

Caitlin rolled onto her side with a disgusted groan that would have made Cassandra proud. She glared at him through heavy eyes — although she may have just been looking at him normally. It was difficult to tell when she was half awake.

She rubbed the sleep away and yawned. “Why did I agree to this whole Inquisitor bit again?”

Cullen leaned up on his forearm as he watched her. “Because you didn’t want to see the world end?”

She waved a finger in his direction. “Mmm, yeah, that.” She sat up properly and began to stretch, audibly cracking her neck. “What are you going to be up to while I’m gone?”

“I expect the men investigating that Red Templar lieutenant to report in today,” he said, enjoying his view as she stretched. Cat was pale, but her muscle tone and natural athleticism spoke of a life spent outdoors, rather than trapped in a Circle. “I want to head into the valley to train with the troops if I get the chance, but mostly I’ll be looking over the papers you brought back.”

“Fun,” she said sarcastically. The notes and scraps she collected were usually just garbage — pages ripped from Brother Genitivi’s book, personal letters filled with frivolous gossip — yet all the advisors rifled through them, searching for the rare bit of actionable intel.

“Any plans out in Emprise?” he asked. “Or just following up on the notes about Samson?”

“Mostly following up.” She’d moved on to the joints in her spine. “We have a camp set up near Sahrnia. Beyond the hints that Samson has dealings out there, a few of Fairbanks’ people mentioned that the Red Templars had intended to ship them out there. I don’t want the Red Templars to have a foothold at the base of the Frostbacks. Plus—” she cut herself off short, looking away so casually it was anything _but_ casual.

His eyes narrowed. “Plus...?”

She waved the question away with a full, charming grin. “It’s nothing.”

He frowned, trying to remember what else he’d seen in the reports about Emprise du Lion. Something more than her pursuit of the Red Templars’ leader. What would she even try to hide—

_She wouldn’t._

His mouth fell open in disbelief. “This doesn’t have to do with the sightings of three different dragons does it?” She stilled and looked down, chewing her lip. He rolled onto his back and dragged a hand through his hair. “Maker’s breath.”

She sat up straight and took his free hand between hers. “I’m just curious…” she insisted.

When he replied, it was through gritted teeth. “Curiosity is how you get yourself set on fire.” He turned over to face her. “I thought the first dragon would have taught you that. Or the second one. Or the one in Crestwood. Or —”

“Cassandra will be with me to keep me out of trouble,” she interrupted.

Cullen’s eyes narrowed further. “And Bull will be there to make sure you find some.”

“Nope,” she replied, popping the ‘p’ loudly. “He wanted to stay behind to run some drills with the Chargers. Vivienne and Cole will be with us.” She put his hands down and resumed her stretching.

“As if you won’t be requesting Bull’s presence in a few days.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed, “I _swear_ that I’m not actually going to hunt the dragons. We’re just clearing the area of any Red Templars…” Cullen almost began to relax, until— “It’s much harder to enjoy a dragon hunt with a behemoth breathing down your neck,” she added sagely.

He groaned and muttered, “Only you and Bull could have standards for a dragon hunt.” Cat’s eyes grew unnaturally large, peering up at him through dark, long lashes. She gently chewed on her lower lip, her face the picture of sweetness.

Cullen sighed. “Drop the act. It’s not like I can or will stop you from going, but you can’t expect me to like it.”

Caitlin sighed and batted her eyes dramatically. “Yes, but you still love me.”

“Of course, I do.” He was being more sombre than her silly flirtation warranted, but after the dream from the night before…

Her expression softened from comical innocence into genuine concern. “It will be alright, Cullen. It’s just a simple survey of the area.”

“With Red Templars involved, nothing is ever simple.” He lifted his hand and lightly rubbed his thumb over her cheek.

“Besides, if and when I take on these dragons, I’ll be sure to have a giant Qunari shield to take any fire breath for me, while I stand far, far away, shooting them with lightning.” Cullen heard her muttering “Stupid fire resistant things…” under her breath.

He didn’t reply or even crack a smile at her silliness.

Her eyebrows drew together with worry. “You’re not really upset with me, are you?” She ran a hand through his hair.

“Of course not,” he quickly reassured her. “It’s just — the dangers you face — there is nothing I can do. I have to let you go.” Her lips were pressed into a thin frown, and he felt her jaw clench under his thumb. “I have to send you into danger. So let me worry over you when I can.” He leaned forward and pulled her face close, their noses gentling bumping together as they nuzzled. His hand moved to her lower back, gently kneading the knots that never truly went away.

“I’d happily be done with this war, if I could,” she said quietly. “Or I would take you with me, if your duties would allow it.”

“I know.” He finally sighed in resignation, leaning back to look her in the eye. “It’s fine. I’ll just stay here fretting about you until you return to me on a white stallion, victorious in battle.”

She smirked and cocked her head. “So you're the fainting princess then? Waiting in her tower for her knight to come rescue her?”

“Or something,” he said tartly.

She scoffed. “I’m not the one who made the comparison. You started this.” A pinch to her arse was his reply.

“So that’s how it is!” She shoved him back into the mattress and leaned in. She hovered near his lips, not quite kissing him, staying _just_ out of his reach.

He put a hand on the back of her head to _finally_ kiss her when the bedroom door slammed open. They scrambled for the blankets in an attempt at modesty as boots thudded up the stairs.

Sera marched in. “Are you leaving today or what?” she asked bluntly. “Vivvy’s getting her knickers all in a twist — going on about ‘punchuality’ or some shite. I’d say the same for Cass, but we know she doesn’t wear any.” A grating giggle burst out of the girl.

Cullen groaned in frustration. He’d been worried that they had come under attack from an invading force — the only reasonable explanation for barging into the Inquisitor’s private chambers.

He supposed that Sera was an invading force in her own right.

“Sera,” Cat sighed, “the door was locked.”

Cullen closed his eyes tight, begging for this to all just be a dream. His entire face was flaming hot.

Sera sounded unperturbed. “Thought you meant it as a challenge. I did give you warning.”

Instead of rebuking her, Cat simply ordered, “Out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cullen could hear her boots stomping away.

He opened his eyes and looked at Cat, who gave him a wry smile. “Well, she _did_ give us a warning. She could have just walked in without us realizing it.”

“That’s because I’m fucking polite!” Sera yelled back from the hall. She hadn’t even bothered to shut the door.

With a great put upon sigh, Cat finally swung her legs out of bed and stood up. When she started digging through the closet for her gear, he followed suit, retrieving his own clothes from the trunk he kept in Cat’s quarters.

After finding fresh clothes for the day, he stood up and looked over, just in time to see Caitlin slip his coin into her breast band.

When she caught him staring, she gave him a wink and a grin. “For luck, right?”

“Right,” he replied, returning her smile.

His gaze lingered, watching as she pulled up her leather breeches, before returning to his own clothing and armor.

They helped each other get ready — fastening hard to reach straps, taming wild hair, stealing kisses at every opportunity. Their eyes, fingers, and lips lingered, savoring every moment before they had to slip on the indifferent masks of command.

After securing their weapons and one final kiss, they made their way to the Great Hall.

Cassandra and Vivienne were seated at a table near the dais, a healthy distance from the ever-present swarm of nobles crowding the rest of the hall. At the opposite end of the table, Varric was writing as Cole read — quite literally — over his shoulder. The spirit was perched, bird-like, his giant hat covering both of their heads.

Just past Varric’s workstation Sera was yelling, “Hey! Hey, Vivvy! Viv! Look here, Viv!” Cullen made the mistake of glancing over to find Sera standing on a chair, waving her arse in the air.

Cullen instantly looked away. “Maker, how do you put up with her?” he sputtered.

“What? Don’t like what you see, then? Not as nice as Miss Ladybits’?”

Vivienne replied without sparing Sera a glance. “While I cannot speak for the Commander, I’m certain that anyone else’s bottom would be preferable to yours.”

“Oh, you’re checking out Inky’s butt! You hear that? Vivvy likes your butt!” Sera shouted in singsong for everyone to hear.

Caitlin raised her arm like she was about to call forth a fireball; Cullen caught her wrist and lowered it. “Not worth it,” he insisted.

She glared at Sera, who was still mocking Vivienne. “I’m not so sure about that…”

“I’m sorry I released the _hound_ on you, darling,” Madame de Fer said, by way of greeting, “but after the last hour of this, I thought it better you than me. Fashionably late has a time and place.”

“I hadn’t set an actual time,” Caitlin protested. “You could have all gone about your business and I would have come and collected you.”

“You had said that we would leave in the morning,” Cassandra reminded. “It is nearly midday.”

“Maker’s breath, is it really that late?”  With the mountain of paperwork that awaited him, it was doubtful Cullen would make it into the valley that day.

Cassandra gave him a discerning smile. “Our Inquisitor seems to be a bad influence.”

“Or a good influence,” Varric chimed in without looking up, “depending on who you asked.”

Caitlin signaled a page. The girl scurried over, eager to help the Herald of Andraste.

“Can you have our mounts brought out?” Caitlin asked.

“Yes, ma’am!” The page ran off.

Caitlin reached for Cullen’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “I need to check in with Dorian before I go.” She headed toward the library, leaving him with Vivienne and Cassandra.

“My dear Commander,” Madame Vivienne called.

“Yes, First Enchanter?” He fought the urge to stand at attention.

It wasn’t that he disliked the mage; far from it. He respected her a great deal, and she had been one of the few mages in the Inquisition to not question his position. After the mess in Kirkwall, it was nice not being instantly distrusted by a Circle mage; to be something more than just a templar.

However, Vivienne was a great lover of the Game. He always felt like she was saying two thing at once, no matter to whom she was speaking. Even cleaning up Meredith’s mess had not prepared him for Orlesian politics.

It didn’t help that she also made him feel like a fresh recruit.

“I need to speak with you about one of your men.”

He frowned and placed a hand on his pommel. “Have any of them been disrespectful toward you?” He had strict rules about how his soldiers treated the mages, and they knew it.

“Aren’t you charming!” she chucked warmly. “But no, nothing of the sort. It’s just that one gentleman, with a particularly blank look to his face…” When he couldn’t supply a name from her description, she added “Blue eyes, babyfaced…he seems to be your attendant or something.”

“Ser James?” he suggested.

“Yes, him...”

Cullen should have known; the man was a menace. He was eager— a little too eager— and he was constantly causing chaos. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the impending headache this would cause. “Maker’s breath, what now?”

“I just ask that if you send him to me again, make sure that you stress the importance of leaving a mage’s desk alone. He had a rather nasty encounter with some herbs of mine.”

That would explain the itching that Ser James complained about last week.

“I will see that he and all my men are sufficiently warned,” he assured her.

“Why was he even near your desk?” Cassandra asked.

“I was out on the balcony and the poor dear didn’t wish to disturb me.” Cullen swallowed — he could feel his neck growing hot. He was fairly certain he knew why Ser James had wished to avoid disturbing Vivienne. Not after the stare down he’d gotten when he had interrupted Cullen’s first attempt to kiss Caitlin.

“Commander, you really should stop rubbing your neck like that. It is most unbecoming.”

Cullen immediately lowered his arm. “Yes, First Enchanter.”

She lowered her voice so none of the courtiers could hear. “That does remind me, Commander…” The calculated lead-in made it seem like Vivienne hadn’t been _just_ reminded at all.

He actually did stand at attention then. “Yes, First Enchanter?”

“A relationship with a mage?” she lamented, shaking her head. “I hope you realize that you’ve confirmed every trite romantic cliché any apprentice has ever dreamt up about a templar.”

“Ma’am?” How was that a reminder? How in Thedas had they even get on to _this_ topic?

She let out a pitiful sigh. “You couldn’t have at least attempted to be discreet?”

Hadn’t they been? Granted, walking out of her chambers in the morning wasn’t exactly sneaking around, but it’s not as if he was throwing her onto the War Table and taking her right in the middle of a meeting.

_Maker’s breath, that was an image._

He gripped his pommel tighter and managed to squeak out, “Y-yes, First Enchanter.”

“Oh, I’m not implying that you’re some kind of dirty secret,”  she said sotto voce. “In fact, you’re probably the best option currently present for our dear Lady Lavellan. But why couldn’t you have thought about the precedent that would set for future mage/templar relations?”

“I…apologize?” His face was definitely burning. He didn’t rub his neck after Vivienne’s previous warning, but he fidgeted with the temptation.

She waved toward the dwarf at the end of the table. “And Varric is certain to include it in one of his vulgar little books.”

“Absolutely,” intoned Varric without stopping his scribbling. Cullen shot him a nasty look.

“Quit teasing the man,” snapped Cassandra.

“Oh, but I’ve been trying to find some fabric in precisely that shade of red!” she laughed. “I wanted a clear image of it next time I went into Val Royeaux.”

 _What?_ Upon closer inspection, he could see the amusement in the First Enchanter’s eyes. _Evil woman._

“What she means to say is that we are _happy_ for the both of you.” Cassandra’s emphasis on the word dared anyone to contradict her. “It’s nice that you both have found something good in this war. It is like something from a fairy tale; hold onto it.”

“Yes, yes, that is all well and good.” Vivienne waved her hand, dismissing the foregone conclusion. “But really, Commander, you should have thought about all the work your little romance would create for me once the Circles are restored.”

He was spared trying to form a reply when both Caitlin and the page returned. She gave them a bright smile. “Shall we?”

Cassandra and Vivienne stood and followed the Inquisitor toward the door.

“Bye bye, Vivvy!” Sera said snidely. Vivienne didn’t even break her stride.

Cole hopped down from his post behind the dwarf and joined the group. “So many stories floating in his head, yet he can always keep them in straight lines on the paper.”

“Cassandra,” Varric called. “I’ll have some new pages for you to look over when you get back. You see, I think the Guard Captain—”

She sliced her hand through the air, cutting him off. “Don’t tell me. Wait until I return.”

“Oh, but I want to read it!” Caitlin whined.

“Not until we get back,” Cassandra insisted, with a firm tug on the Inquisitor’s arm.

“Suit yourself!” He nodded to Caitlin. “Safe travels, Inquisitor.”

Vivienne’s mare and Cole’s pony were already at the gate, the stable boy running to fetch the remaining two.

The spirit walked up to his dappled pony and looked her in the eyes, rubbing a pale hand down her face. “You like it when you’re helpful. I like helping too. Though I don’t like straw. It pokes me.”

No one acknowledged the strange boy’s comment, beyond an irritated eye-roll from Vivienne as she swung herself onto her own horse.

Cullen took Caitlin aside before her own mount arrived, allowing himself a reassuring squeeze of her velvet clad shoulder. “Take care of yourself out there.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed in for chaste kiss. As soon as the stable boy walked up with her mount, he pulled away.

“See, I ride a hart!” she declared, lifting herself into the saddle. “No shining white horses in sight. I’m not a very good knight after all.”

He chuckled as he held the reins for her. “As long as it isn’t one of those ridiculous nugs.”

“I like the nugs!” she protested.

“Of course, Inquisitor.” He rubbed the stag’s nose as Caitlin settled herself. ”Don’t set any of your companions on fire.”

“Not even if they deserve it?”

He handed her the reins. “It would begin to affect morale.”

Cullen gave her a quick salute, and she nudged her stag into a trot. As she rode past the gates, Cullen climbed the ramparts, watching her trek down the bridge and away from Skyhold

_Three dragons! She’s excited about three dragons. Maker’s Breath, I love a mad woman…_

He chuckled quietly to himself, and made his way to his office and the work that awaited him.

With the Inquisitor not yet committed to the campaign in the Arbor Wilds, there was nothing of interest; only so much could be planned without sending troops.

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he had copious amounts of free time available.

He just had paperwork. Piles and piles of paperwork.

Requisitions. Disciplinary issues. Ration distributions. Staff assignments. Staff reassignments. Staffing requests. Discharge papers. Recruitment papers. Budget reports. _So many budget reports._ Inventory. Purchase orders. Work orders. Duty rosters. Updates to regulations. Dispatches. The thousands of little requests that were made, even if they might be beneath the Inquisition. And, of course, all the paperwork that spawned from those requests.

He had seen less action as Commander of the Inquisition than during a typical week of glorified guard duty in the Circle.

After clearing out some of the the truly tedious work, Cullen found the Emerald Graves docket the Inquisitor had compiled.

Somewhere buried in the mess were the letters from Samson’s smugglers, as well as orders from the Red Templar officer stationed in the Graves. He settled into his seat and picked up a quill to make his own notes. He’d barely had a chance to glance at the first page when his door swung open.

“Cullen, my friend, hard at work I see.”

Cullen looked up to find Dorian carrying a small covered tray. “What can I do for you, Dorian?”

“I suspected as much…” Dorian huffed. He juggled the tray with one hand, picked up the stack of paperwork in front of Cullen, and threw it on top of different stack before placing his parcel down in the center of the desk.

“What are you doing?” Cullen objected.

Dorian threw himself into a chair, stretching out to take up as much room as he possibly could. “You’ve forgotten about our game, haven’t you?”

“Oh, Maker.” Cullen sighed and tossed the quill aside. “You’re right, I have.” The two had a standing game of chess whenever the Inquisitor was away from Skyhold. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in here most of the day, trying to catch up.” He noticed then that the sky was awash in the orange glow of a setting sun.

“Yes, you must be simply buried in work! No doubt because our lovely Inquisitor refuses to let you work yourself to death and drags you off to bed at some point.” Dorian quirked a sly grin. “Though perhaps not always to sleep, hmm?”  

Cullen just grunted a noncommittal reply before picking up his quill again. He’d had enough teasing already. “I’m afraid I have to cancel for today. I really should get through some more of this.” He waved at the stack of paper. Since Dorian had moved things around, he could no longer tell how much he had actually gotten done.

“No, that simply will not do.” Dorian kicked Cullen’s desk petulantly. “I’m bored. Take a break and have a match with me.” He leaned forward and lifted the lid off of the tray. “I’ve even brought you food. I’m sure you haven’t even eaten today.” Dorian covered Cullen’s inkwell with the tray lid before slouching back into the chair.

Cullen recognized the servingware from the Herald’s Rest next to a sandwich and a bowl of stew. Before he could protest, his stomach gave out a treacherous growl. He hadn’t realized it, but he was famished.

“Fine. I’ll eat, but I really don’t have time for a match today.” He grabbed the the spoon and began to tuck in.

“Nonsense. You stood me up. The least you can do is entertain me,” Dorian demanded.

“Keeping you entertained is not part of my duties, Dorian. I appreciate the meal, but afterwards I must get back to my work.”

He had expected that to be the end of the conversation, but Dorian kept staring, tapping his foot impatiently. “Finish your food, and then we’ll decide if you’re taking a break or not.”

“I don’t know why you’re so insistent. It’s not the first time either of us has had to cancel.”

Dorian shifted in his seat. “I’m just dreadfully bored, that’s all. Besides, canceling is different than being left to wait.” He sat up a little straighter.

“Just as you’ve abandoned me several times in the past. We hadn’t even confirmed we were going to play today.” It was then that Cullen remembered the Inquisitor’s last minute errand, and he dropped his spoon into the soup with a splatter. “She put you up to this, didn’t she.”

Dorian sighed, resuming his nonchalant posture. “I’m that obvious? Alright, yes. Cat asked me to keep an eye on you.”

Cullen sat back into his chair, crossing his arms. “For the love of… I don’t need a nanny!”

“Says the man who had forgotten to eat until nearly evening.”

Cullen picked up the spoon and returned to his soup. “It’s not as if I was just wasting away. One busy day isn’t cause to start mothering me.”

Dorian fixed him with a pointed glare. “All Cat asked was to make sure you didn’t work yourself too hard. I hadn’t intended to be so pushy, but when no one had seen you leave your office or request any food, you left me no choice but to come hover over your shoulder.”

Cullen’s leather gloves creaked as he tightened his grip, trying not to get angry over well-meaning concern. “The Inquisitor was just worried because I woke her up late last night. But I’m fine, and I really should get back to work.”

“There is no use trying to placate me now. This _had_ just been just a favor for Caitlin, but you have now made it personal.” Dorian turned his aquiline nose up in the air. “I’ve been slightly inconvenienced, so now I must return the favor.”

Cullen snorted. “I figured you were above petty revenge.”

“Clearly, you’ve never been to Minrathous.” Dorian leaned forward and grabbed some notes from the stack. “I can’t imagine any of this requires your immediate attention. Something important wouldn’t be left to get mixed up with a—” He made a show of reading the paper in his hand. “—Templar Placement Sitrep.”

Cullen grinned. “You made that up, Dorian. That’s not a real thing.”

Dorian looked over the paper. “Are you certain?”

Instead of arguing over Dorian’s nonsense (because Cullen really wasn’t certain), he changed the topic back to the task at hand. “There probably isn’t anything dire in them, no” he agreed. “But some of this is more of a personal project.” He took a sip from the mug of tepid water he kept on his desk.

Dorian gave a bemused grin. “Tsk-tsk, Commander. Using Inquisition resources for personal gain? I would have never thought you had it in you.”

“Hardly. The Inquisitor has been investigating Corypheus’ general for me.” He let out a small breath. “I knew him once. Apparently there were some mentions of him in this, but I have yet  to read them for myself.”

Dorian leaned over and grabbed half of the sandwich he had brought for Cullen. “Think you’ll find something that our spymaster or fearless leader missed?” After one bite, Dorian stuck out his tongue in disgust and threw the sandwich back onto the plate.

“It’s not that I don’t trust them,” Cullen insisted as he reassembled it, “but I served the Order for the majority of my life. I’m more familiar with the nuances and inner workings. Sometimes the context escapes them.” Cullen took a bite. It tasted fine to him.

“So you’re worried that Cat won’t understand what this Carroll chap is saying?”

Cullen’s stomach churned. “Who was that?” Cullen asked through a mouth full of food.

“Carroll?” Dorian waved the pages in his hand. “That’s the name here. Is that actually important?”

Cullen quickly swallowed and put the sandwich down. “Let me see that.” He reached over his desk and snatched the documents from Dorian’s hands.

There, on the bottom of one of the notes complaining about the Inquisition’s success, was the signature. _Knight-Captain Carroll._

“A friend of yours?” Dorian asked delicately, leaning forward.

Cullen pushed the tray aside in order to lay the letter down flat. “Yes. Well, it was a decade ago.” His voice was low, subdued. “But yes, I knew him. Trained under him for a time, before the lyrium started to rot his mind.”

“And he’s now with the Red Templars.” The mage looked at Cullen compassionately. “I am sorry, my friend. About this and about dropping a rather large revelation on you carelessly.”

Cullen shook his head to clear away the haze that was starting to sink in. “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know. Maker…” Cullen took the napkin from the tray, wiping his hands and mouth. “I’ve been looking for Carroll— worried about this happening. I should have thought about him sooner. Him and Samson.”

He paused and took a large gulp of water, the food feeling stuck in his throat.

“How much of this happened because I wanted to cut ties to the Order so thoroughly?” Cullen breathed.

“None of that,” Dorian admonished. “The corruption of the Templar order is no more your fault than the actions of a lunatic Magister are mine. This is Corypheus’ doing.”

“I can’t say I entirely agree.” Cullen quickly read through the small note again, shocked by the belittling tone. Carroll had been a rather gentle man, with an eccentric sense of humor. “Samson had no connection to Carroll. They never served with each other. But I had mentioned Carroll to Samson a few times, a warning against Samson’s increasing lyrium addiction. I’m likely responsible for putting Carroll in Samson’s path.”

Dorian sat up and crossed his arms. “So you know every templar, then?”

Cullen looked at him confused, unsure of what Dorian was getting at. “No, of course not.”

“But you have at least talked to every templar you have ever met about every other templar you have ever met?”

Cullen scoffed. “No, that’s ridiculous.”

Dorian uncrossed his arm in order to point at him. “Just about as ridiculous as thinking that the corruption of an entire order can be traced back to you.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about the whole order, I’m talking about two people I personally knew.”

“Yes, but how can you be sure that you are the reason Carroll is with the Red Templars? You cannot possibly be the only thread they had in common, whether through the templars or the Chantry as a whole. Why must all the blame rest on your shoulders?”

Cullen sighed and leaned back into his chair. “You’re right,” he agreed as Dorian’s reasoning sank in. “There are a thousand possible explanations for this.”

“You should just always assume I’m right. It would make our dealings so much easier for me.” Dorian flicked away a nonexistent piece of lint from his sleeve. “But since you seem to have found something that is actually important, I shall leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cullen said sincerely. “And thank you for the food.”

“You’re most welcome,” Dorian said grandly as he stood. “But don’t forget to eat tomorrow, or you’ll see me once again. I am more afraid of Cat finding out that I let you work yourself to death than I am of you being slightly annoyed.”

Cullen nodded with a bemused smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

After the door closed, Cullen got back to his work. He pored over the Emerald Graves notes, trying to find any useful information.

He could feel the previous night’s headache creeping back, and rubbed his temples in hopes to help alleviate the pain.

What he wouldn’t do for Cat to be there with her wonderfully warm hands.

He shook his head in censure. If he was already pining away like a lovesick fool in less than a day, maybe they hadn’t been as discreet as he’d thought.

Cullen worked through his headache, and his dinner. His scouts returned just as night set in. They confirmed what he already knew: Carroll was leading the Red Templars in the Graves. He would be there for the next several weeks, trying to undo all of the Inquisition’s work.

His stomach sank with the realization that he would have to send the Inquisitor to kill his old friend.

Cullen’s headache only got worse throughout the night, and the candlelight was painfully sharp against his eyes. He stood and stretched, deciding that a break was in order.

He stepped out of his office, blinking back the fatigue. The first moon was out above the trees, large and full, reflecting off the snowdrifts blanketing Skyhold. Most of the windows were dark, even in the guest quarters. Since the Orlesian nobility didn’t typically turn in early, it must have been later than he first thought.

Cullen walked the ramparts, surveying the keep by the day-bright moonlight. In the valley, he could see the fires of their camp, always burning, and sighed. Hopefully he could find the time to ride out to the barracks the next day.

As he approached the Herald’s Rest, he saw Iron Bull leaning against a parapet. He often ran into the tavern residents on his patrols, in various states of sobriety.

Bull nodded in greeting. “Cullen.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Nah, pretty quiet.”

It was as if Maker himself had been waiting for the perfect cue. A large raven flew overhead, breaking the silence with an echoing caw.

“That didn’t take long,” Bull said.

“What didn’t?”

“Oh, just the boss getting fed up with either Vivienne, or Cole, or both.” Bull must have been able to see his confused expression in the moonlight. “Cole freaks Viv out and she can be a bit vicious when dealing with the kid; drives the boss nuts. The bird’s letter had the Inquisitor’s seal on it, so I’m betting it’s a personnel change.”

“Seems a bit late to be sending a request,” Cullen mused aloud.

“Nah,” Bull drawled. “This side of the mountains gets pretty windy. She probably sent it off this afternoon, and the bird got blown off course.” He slapped a meaty hand across Cullen’s shoulder that sent his jaw rattling. “Want to see who’s getting sent back with their tail tucked in between their legs?” he asked, grinning.

“I..suppose?” Cullen couldn’t understand why Bull was so excited.

“I bet it’s Viv! Boss is more likely to replace her with Dorian or Solas than Cole with Sera since it’d be the same mess all over again. She’ll leave Varric here because she wants him to finish his latest crappy romance novel.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Likely.”

“Viv is going to be so pissed about being sent home early!” Bull said gleefully.

“I thought you liked her?” Cullen asked as they jogged down the stairs.

“I do, but she also intimidates the crap out of me. I have to get my wins where I can.”

“I know what you mean,” he muttered.

Bull snickered. “She remind you of your _Tamassran_ too? All horned and shit.”

“Something like that,” Cullen drolly replied.

When they began ascending the stairs to the Great Hall, Cullen could see that more torches were lit than there had been when he had first left his office. The higher they rose, the more people he could see. Messengers and several of Leliana’s agents were rushing around, following whatever late night orders they had received.

“Something’s wrong,” he murmured, more to himself than to the man at his side.

He broke into a run, taking the remaining steps two at a time.

He barely missed the page that was seconds from crashing into him.

“Commander! I was just coming to get you. Sister Leliana needs you in the War Room. She needs all of the Inner Circle there,” he said, glancing at Bull.

“What is it?” The young man jumped, and Cullen realized he must have snapped his question.

“There have been some problems for the Inquisitor’s party. Reports of serious injuries. They’re returning to Skyhold tonight.”

Cullen gripped his sword and rushed off to the War Room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kuddos and thanks once again to my editors!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see some of those story warnings... Yeah you should probably start paying attention to those...

Cullen threw open the door to the ambassador's office to find Josephine jogging while she struggled with a bright willow weave dressing gown.

“Do you know what has happened, Commander?” she asked, voice thick with sleep. She quickly tied her dressing gown closed as he marched past her.

“Caitl-” He stopped her name on his tongue, reminding himself to use the Inquisitor’s title. He had to be an impartial advisor. “The Inquisitor has run into some trouble. Injuries. Beyond that…”

He shoved the War Room door open; Iron Bull caught the door, holding it open for Josephine to pass through and several Inquisition agents to run out.

Cullen found Leliana by the War Table, issuing orders to a couple of pages.“Wake up the healers; they will need to be prepared the moment the party arrives. Stay while they take inventory, and get them whatever they need.” They saluted and left.

Cullen was impressed with how quickly she had mobilized so many people, but it didn’t explain why they were needed.

He raised his voice to be heard over the rush. “What’s happened?”

The spymaster barely spared them a glance as she scribbled a message. “I received a raven from one of our patrols. The Inquisitor’s party was attacked in the mountains… ” She paused and looked up, giving him her full attention. “The report said there were casualties.”

The words slammed into Cullen, knocking the breath out of his lungs. The room swayed for a moment as he fought for air.

“Who?” Josephine’s voice trembled.

Leliana turned her attention back to the message she was writing. “I don’t know, Josie. The note was rushed. It sounded like it was mere chance the party was even found. The patrol lacks proper supplies to care for the wounded, so they are returning as quickly as they can.”

Cullen swallowed around the stone trapping his voice. “But there are survivors?”

“Yes, at least one — but it sounds as though they are barely holding on.” She finished her message and handed it off to a waiting agent. “Take this to the Grand Enchanter. Wake her up if you need to.”

Cullen’s knuckles ached around the bone white grip he had on his sword. “And you have no names?”

Leliana turned back to him, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “I’m afraid not.”

“You need speak to our people about how to relay information,” Cullen growled.

“Our agents know their duties, Commander,” she replied flatly. “They were focused on keeping the witness alive.”

Cullen’s thoughts raced with all of the implications of a skirmish less than a day’s ride from Skyhold. “I need to get to the barracks. We should prepare for an invasion.”

“You should stay here, Cullen,” Josephine objected.

“She’s right,” Leliana agreed. “The patrol saw _no_ signs of trouble until they found the Inquisitor’s party. Send a raven to Rylen in the valley, but stay on hand in case the situation changes.”

The order chafed, no matter how sound the logic. Cullen wanted to act, not wait around for news.

Still, he grabbed a quill and quickly wrote a note for his Second: _Attack near Skyhold. Ready the troops. Be prepared for anything._

The door swung open with a groan, breaking some of the quietly brewing tension between the advisors. Varric, Solas, and some of Cullen’s own soldiers filed in, all in various states of dress.

Iron Bull stood off to the side, leaning against a wall with folded arms. “So what do you need, Red?”

Leliana looked around, realizing that her agents had yet to return. “The healers are being woken up, but I haven’t thought about the rest of the staff. They’re likely be working through the night and will need food and supplies.”

“Got it.”

“So it’s true?” Varric asked. “The Inquisitor was attacked on the road?”

“Who are ‘they’? Who is saying anything?” asked Josephine.

“The whole castle, Ruffles.” Varric’s hair was down, and his overcoat was missing, but he appeared to be more awake than any of them. “Half of Skyhold is in the courtyard. Had to fight my way through them.”

“Just what we need.” Cullen gritted his teeth. If the Orlesian courtiers got involved, it would complicate everything tenfold.

Bull shrugged. “Guess I don’t have to go wake anyone up.”

“Perhaps not, but I can guarantee it will be chaos out there,” Cullen told him. “See if you can help the others; I don’t trust Sera to not simply shoot her way through.”

Bull snorted his agreement as he pushed off the wall and headed for the courtyard.

“You and you.” Cullen pointed to the guards who had followed Varric and Solas in. “Come with me. We’re on crowd control.” He turned back to Leliana. “If any more of my men report back here, send them out to help shove the nobles back into their beds.”

Josephine placed a hand on his forearm, stopping him. “You’re not really going to do that, are you?”

“We'll need a clear path to the Infirmary, and gawkers won’t help. I’ll lock them in their rooms myself if I have to.” He nodded to the orders for Rylen. “Make sure that gets sent.”

Josephine nodded. “At least try to use some diplomacy?”

“Only if they behave.” He marched out of the room, certain his men would follow.

Beyond the sound of their marching boots filling the hallway, the long walk between the War Room and the Great Hall was silent. It gave his thoughts just enough time to start whispering in his head.

Casualties. There had been casualties. More than one. Even if Cat was alive — _Merciful Andraste, please, please let her be alive —_ it still meant that others were dead. People he had seen just that morning, people he had shared meals, shared his life with; his friends…

When he entered the hall, it was mostly clear save for a couple standing by the fire.

“You guard the entrance,” he told one of the soldiers. “When people start filing through, keep them in line. You, deal with them,” he added, directing the second soldier toward the couple. “Once they’re gone, help guide people into the garden. Keep this room clear.”

“Ser!” they saluted.

He marched toward the main door, but when the couple began to yell at his soldier, he altered his course.

“Oh, Commander!” the gentleman called out in a thick Orlesian accent. “Please tell us this brute is lying. You cannot mean to confine us to our rooms!”

The couple’s night clothes were silk, and so intricately detailed they seemed more suited for a ballroom than a bedroom. Only the lack of anything hard or pointed denoted the true nature of their outfits.

Cullen bit back an impetuous reply, trying to be considerate of the Inquisition’s ambassador. “We’re dealing with an emergency and our people need to move unhindered. So if you would please—”

“But Commander!” the gentleman yelled. “How can you possibly think we could sleep at a time like this!”

Cullen knew the man’s voice, but had absolutely no recollection of his face. “This space must be kept clear for our messengers.”

“But what has happened?” The woman was shaking, despite her plush robe and proximity to the fire. “There is talk that someone has died! Surely you don’t expect us to try and sleep when all of this is going on! Can’t you at least tell _us_ what you know?” She clutched at his fur mantle; Cullen fought the urge to push her off of him.

“Please, Commander,” the man murmured. “We have to know — is the Inquisitor safe?”

The solemnity drew Cullen up short. The Inquisitor was a symbol of faith and stability to many, and this was more than just selfish worry. It was genuine concern over the welfare of the Inquisitor.

He suddenly realized that he’d never seen any of the Orlesians without their masks before, and that he knew these people. They stood just outside of the library’s entrance, gossiping loudly about his relationship with the Inquisitor. Caitlin would occasionally chat with them, unable to pass up the opportunity to tease him.

He carefully extricated the woman’s hand from his coat. “We don’t know anything yet.”

“Surely, you —”

“And if you keep delaying me, I can’t find out,” Cullen insisted. “I’m certain an announcement will be made once more information is available. But please, keep this space clear. Wait in the Chantry garden if you must.” He turned back toward the front doors, anxious to be on his way.

“Commander—”

“I don’t know!” he bellowed. “And I won’t know until you leave!”

His outburst finally made them relent, and they allowed Cullen’s soldier to herd them toward the garden door in stunned silence. Cullen continued his course to the courtyard.

In the antechamber of the hall, it was just quiet enough for his thoughts to try and consume him once more.

_I just need to know Cat’s alright. I’ll handle their fragile egos later and apologize to Josephine, but only after I know she’s alright. I have to know that she’s safe_.

He took a moment to release a steadying breath before stepping out into the courtyard.

The ghostly moonlight was drowned out by the unrelenting glare of torches illuminating the throng. Varric had undersold it for once. It seemed as if _all_ of Skyhold was out — but with the Orlesians forgoing their masks, Cullen was surrounded by strangers in the home he’d lived in for months.

Bull had made it to the other side of the yard along with Sera, Dorian, and Blackwall, but they were trapped by the crowd. Going around wasn’t an option; the ramparts were packed with Inquisition mages, stuck between their tower and the infirmary, unable to move off the stairs.

At least the steps in front of him were clear. Fortunate, since he didn’t trust himself to not casually nudge a noble loitering near the baluster-free edges.

It wasn’t just their guests crammed in, either. He recognized several members of the staff: the stable hand who had brought out the Inquisitor’s hart was loitering toward the back of the crowd, along with several others from the barn and a few girls Cullen recognized from the kitchen.

At the base of the stairs — to his great surprise — was Ser James, directing a handful of sentries.

“We should try and clear a path. Push through like that Qunari mercenary did!” Ser James turned toward Cullen as he walked down. “Commander!” He snapped to attention, and all the guards followed suit.

He nodded his greeting. “Do you know the situation?” Cullen asked them in a low voice.

“No, ser. There are rumors that the Inquisitor was ki—” The boy quickly cut off what he had been about to say. “That the Inquisitor’s party is returning with injuries.”

Cullen crossed his arms, trying to ward off the hole forming in his chest. “That the Inquisitor was killed? That’s what the rumors are saying?” His voice was firm, demanding an answer. It would explain why everyone was out in droves.

“Yes, ser…” the recruit replied. “But it’s not true, right?”

_Babyfaced_ , that’s how Vivienne had described him. In that moment, it seemed appropriate: he looked so young. They all did, turning to him with wide-eyed hope that their beloved Herald was still alive.

Cullen made sure his voice was as commanding and composed as his soldiers expected. “We don’t know anything for certain yet, and we won’t know until we clear a path for our messengers.”

“Yes, ser!” they bellowed in response.

“Are the six of you the only guards on duty?”

“No, ser,”James replied. “I posted a few at the base of the battlements before the crowd really got bad. I caught several unauthorized guests attempting to get up there.”

“Good work.” He nodded in approval and James grinned from the accolades. “Now we need to clear everyone out of here. We have wounded returning, and our mages must be able to come and go unhindered. If anyone doesn’t wish to return to their own room they can make their way to the garden, but I want this courtyard empty!”

“Yes, ser!” they echoed.

“If they refuse to go, put them in a cell. There are more pressing matters to attend to than standing about bickering with some self-important noble. Dismissed!”

“Ser!” They saluted and dispersed to carry out his orders.

Cullen was surrounded by the cloying scent of too many people wearing too much perfume all crammed together into too small a space. His stomach churned as he attempted to get the crowd moving.

Aside from the smell, things went smoothly at first. Cullen had but to remind the Skyhold staff of their duties before they began to leave.

When an elderly old lady thwacked James against his chest and began to ‘shoo’ him, however, it was interesting enough to make the staff stop and watch the new drama unfold. They were not the only ones; the progress the others had begun to make was quickly coming undone.

To make matters worse, those who _were_ actually obeying were shoving through to the keep, overcrowding the dangerous staircase. It seemed the choke points in Skyhold’s defenses were equally effective at hindering the passages of an invading force or a crowd of obstinate Orlesians.

He turned his attention back to the mob; James had begun to drag the woman he’d been fighting with towards the prison. _Of course James would choose the worst possible person to turn into an example_. Several nobles grabbed at James in an attempt to stop him, and the other soldiers moved in to help.

It was pandemonium. Cullen had to do something before they had a riot on their hands.

He stuck his pinky and thumb in his mouth and let out an ear piercing whistle.Everyone in earshot turned toward him.

“Back to your beds! Now!” he yelled.

The low grumble from those refusing to move rose to a loud roar. He even saw several fists in the air, shaking at him.

“The quickest way to get the gossip you all want is to _get out of our way_.”

When no one in the courtyard moved, he decided he’d had enough.

The soldiers he had posted at the entrance had kept the crowd moving while everyone else stared at him. It was thin enough that he could climb the stairs once more. Once he reached the landing, he whistled again. Now that he was above the crowd, even those by the portcullis turned to look at him.

“Back to your rooms!” he bellowed. “Or go back to your jobs, while you still have them.” No one spoke or even moved. The sudden silence left his ears ringing, but still, no one heeded his instructions.

“Go now or spend the night in a cell!”

When they continued to just stare blankly at him, he drew his sword. Even though he had plenty of room, he noticed several ducked. “Now!”

It was enough to spur them into action. They filed past him in an orderly fashion; any time someone began causing trouble, all he needed to do was glare. There were still objections, but they were toned down to a dull grumble. One woman in a silk nightgown scoffed at his ‘nerve’ as she walked past, but the crowd was moving nonetheless.

Bull made his way through, shoving a path through the courtiers, and his companions followed in his wake.

“Not exactly the most tactful speech there, Commander,” remarked Dorian as he walked past. “I doubt they are _all_ here purely for the gossip. Most, but not all.”

“Stupid, useless lot,” piped up Sera. “Poke them a few times with a couple of arrows and watch how quick they get out of my way.”

“This is why we made you leave your arrows behind,” intoned Blackwall (or whatever name he went by these days).

With the crowd mostly dispersed, Cullen made his way down the steps to help his men with the occasional straggler.

The mages, no longer trapped on the ramparts, were going to and fro in their efforts to prepare for the wounded. The infirmary was new and had yet to see any actual use, most injuries treated on the field or in their camp. Several apprentices were running from the quartermaster, carrying crates of potions and poultices.

He moved to check in with the soldiers Ser James had posted on the stairs and thank them for their efforts, not noticing the Tranquil carrying a box of potions behind him. He turned too quickly and ran right into Clemence, making him drop several vials of lyrium.

“You should look where you are going,” Clemence intoned.

The blue liquid had splattered all over Cullen’s boots. Even from the ground, the cool scent rushed up to him, clearing away any trace smells of the crowd.

“Yes… I’m sorry.” He rubbed his hand across his neck, trying to focus away from the lyrium song.

The Tranquil made no acknowledgement of his apology, simply turning back towards the supply cache — likely going to replace the smashed jars.

Cullen dragged the toes of his shoes through the dirt. It was a lost cause, he knew; the smell would linger for days. He tightened his grip on his sword, trying to mask the tremble in his fingers. The other hand followed suit, clenching into a fist at his side. He debated heading to Cat’s quarters for a quick change; his extra boots were in her closet next to his trunk — and her personal lyrium stores.

_I should grab a bottle, just in case_.

He was halfway up the main staircase when he realized where his thoughts had gone. Cat could be fighting for her life, and he… Cullen choked back the bile rising in his throat. He wiped a hand down his nose, as if ridding himself of the smell could somehow rid him of the cravings.

He continued up to check in with the guards; it was better than anyone noticing him walking back down for no apparent reason. “You did well holding the doors. We could have had some serious injuries on our hands.”

One of them smirked. “We’ve faced down the Red Templars in Haven… Nobles aren’t exactly a bloodthirsty horde.” Cullen startled when he recognized Lysette, one of the templars who had joined shortly after the conclave. He hadn’t been paying attention when he assigned her to the door.

“If we deprive them of gossip long enough, we’ll see how bloodthirsty they get,” he replied, returning Lysette’s grin.

After his brief relapse, her quip gave him some much-needed perspective.

Unfortunately, the calm allowed Cullen’s focus to drift back toward that all-too familiar hole in his chest; the pit he had fallen into as his fellow Templars were massacred while he watched — paralyzed and unable to help. He had spent a decade doing everything in his power to forget it, keep it from rendering him useless once more.

Between his racing thoughts and the traces of lyrium lingering in the air, Cullen was nearing that precipice again, closer than he had been in a long time — so close that a light breeze could push him forward, over that edge.

He reminded himself that Caitlin had faced Corypheus down in person and survived, even after being lost in an avalanche. He had to focus on that or he feared he would become worse than useless — a liability.

He resumed checking in with the guards posted around the yard. He stressed that they should be prepared to bring the mages anything they might need. He normally objected to his men being used as servants, but this was no time for petty power struggles.Just as Cullen turned back to the keep, a horn called out: someone was approaching Skyhold.

Cullen ran toward the gate to see several figures walking across the stone bridge into Skyhold. It was a small group — too small to be the full party, surely. There were only three figures, walking toward the fortress at what seemed an agonizingly slow pace. He could hear more people on the steps behind him, but he rushed forward to meet the group on the bridge; he was more concerned with news of Cat than whether the nobles had escaped their pen.

When he reached the bridge, he saw two scouts and Cole walking toward him. Was that a good thing or bad? Was Cole one of the survivors, or had the spirit’s strange abilities made the scouts forget him and misreport the situation?

One of the soldiers saluted him. “Commander! We were sent ahead to see that you were properly notified. They rest are behind us, but the litter is slowing them down.”

He nodded. “We received your raven. Preparations have been made.”

“Have the mages at hand, ser. We had a couple of elfroot potions, but she needs a proper healer.”

“She?” He tried his best to ignore his hammering heart.

_Cat. Let it be, Cat. Blessed Andraste, protect your Herald once more._

“Seeker Pentaghast, ser.”

A light breeze brushed across Cullen’s flushed neck, pushing him a half step forward. “And the others?” he whispered.

“We don’t know, ser. We found the Seeker alone and wounded; no sign of the others. But there was a trail of blood, so we think she had been moved. No way she could have made it on her own. We left people behind to find where she had come from and to keep a look out for any more trouble.”

Cole finally began to speak, his words flowing out in the cadence of a chant. “I tried to stop them. I tried. I tried. I tried.”

The spirit wasn’t exactly coherent normally, but Cullen had never seen him in such a state. His large hat was missing, and tears flowed freely down the boy’s face. His words were barely discernable through hiccuping sobs, his muttered comments directed to no one.

“I tried to make them stop. I tried to help, I tried, I tried, I tried, but it didn’t work.” Cole let out a shuddering breath. “Nothing worked…” He looked to the sky, the moon illuminating his tear streaks. “Though she’s still alive. She’s alive despite everything. She’s alive. She’s alive. She still lives. She is still alive.”

Cullen nodded toward Cole. “And him?” he asked the scouts.

“Who, ser?” she asked in confusion. Right, no one would remember the spirit.

“Cole and the others,” he elaborated, hoping to cover his slip-up. “The note made mention of Seeker Cassandra’s injuries, but it mentioned casualties as well.”

“It was being written as we set off. They must have found the others after we had left.”

Leliana had said casualties. Plural. _And Cat isn’t here…_

The scouts continued to stand there, waiting for his orders. Cullen pulled himself together enough to dismiss them.

“She’s alive,” Cole whispered to the moon. “I made sure of it. I couldn’t save the others. I couldn’t save them. But she’s alive.”

Cullen looked at the young man. Cole was trembling and looked impossibly small without his hat. Had he lost it? Wasn’t it just something the spirit conjured?

“Who, Cole?” Cullen asked firmly.

Cole gave no sign of responding; he just stood there, blankly staring at the sky.

Cullen grabbed Cole’s collar and forced the spirit to look him in the eye. “Who, Cole? Who are you talking about? Cassandra? Answer me!”

Cole nodded emphatically, his eyes large with fear. “She’s alive at least. I tried to stop them. It didn’t work. But she’s still alive.” His voice was only loud enough to hear over the breeze.

A bony hand on Cullen’s wrist pulled him away from Cole. “Cole?” Solas’ voice came from beside him. It must have been the Inner Circle he had heard on the stairs behind him. “Can you tell me what happened?”

All Cole managed to do was shake his head violently. “The others… I couldn’t help them,” he insisted. “But she’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.”

“That’s all he’s said,” Cullen told the elf. “The—” his voice caught in his throat; caught in the terrible thought. “It was Cassandra who they found. It’s Cassandra he’s talking about.”

For the first time since Cole returned, some clarity came back into his eyes and he focused his eyes on Cullen. “I couldn’t make them forget!” he yelled, his voice all the more shrill in contrast to his soft murmurs. “I tried to but they’re too jagged, sharp, cutting as they cut. They cut everyone down! I could only make them forget me and I couldn’t stop them as they cut her down. Templars are killers! We need to kill them back!”

“The Templars?” he asked. “Red Templars are near Skyhold?” Cullen began mentally planning troop movements; this would not be a repeat of Haven.

Cole shook his head. He grabbed Cullen’s fur mantle, pulling him close. Cole was yelling as though Cullen couldn’t hear him, even though they were inches apart. “They left and we couldn’t stop them!” he screamed. “I tried! We tried but they only forgot me! Forgot me and killed her and they left!” Cole’s hands were buried so deep in the bear fur it pressed again Cullen’s chest plate, rattling against the metal.

“So, the Inquisitor? She’s—” Dorian seemed unable to give voice to the dreadful question they all needed the answer to.

Cole let out a frustrated groan and shook his head vigorously. “I couldn’t make them forget her! She tried to stop them, freezing, burning, shocking, anything to make them stop, but they didn’t stop so they stopped her instead! They killed her and I didn’t kill them back!”

Cullen’s world went black. Despite the torches, despite the full moon and the snow, despite his eyes being wide open, staring back at Cole, everything was dark.

Varric stepped between them. “You need to calm down, Kid. Tell us what happened.”

Varric’s request seemed to break whatever had pulled Cole into coherency. His hands went slack, slipping down until they hung listlessly at his sides. Cole looked back at the sky and resumed his muttering. “She’s alive. They left me alone, but she’s still alive at least. She’s alive.”

Solas’ voice rumbled with irritation. “I’m afraid the experience has been too much for Cole. Pushing him will not help. I don’t think we’ll be able to find out more until they return with Seeker Cassandra.”

Cullen heard Josephine speak up from somewhere behind him. “I’ve heard from the mages…” Her voice still sounded muddled but surely she must be awake by now. Perhaps it was muddled by her tears? Or perhaps it was his own head that was muddled? “Everything is in order and they are ready. Cassandra will be in the best of hands.” Cullen admired her for holding it together so well. He barely noticed the hitch in her voice.

“I should—” Cullen started. _I should what?_ What should he do? What _could_ he do? “We should—” If Cat was dead and gone…what was the Inquisition without the Inquisitor? “I should go into the Valley.” He started walking toward the stables for a horse. He was certain no one could see that he was stumbling over his feet rather than walking with them. “We should prepare for a march against the Red Templars.” Though he could barely see, could barely walk, he found the steel in his voice. “We will hunt them down. This will not go unanswered.”

“You are needed here, Commander,” Leliana insisted. “Let my people track the Templars first.”

“My troops need me more. Any information can be sent back to me.”

Cullen felt Bull’s hand gripping his shoulder. “Red’s right. You need to stay here.”

He shrugged Bull off vehemently, but before he could continue, Varric put a hand on his wrist.

“At least wait until Cassandra gets back, Cullen.” Cullen paused — this might be the first time he had ever heard Varric call anyone by something other than his asinine nicknames. “I’m sure Cassandra will want you here. It’ll be easier if we don’t have to hunt you down.” Varric was quiet, looking at the path down the mountain; the path that Cassandra — and not Cat — would be returning on.

Cullen pulled away, but less forcefully than he had with Bull. “I’ll be in my office, gathering my things. I’m setting off once Cassandra is back in Skyhold.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only Chapter 3 of 7 in Part 1 of 5... There is still a lot more to come.
> 
> Thanks as always to my amazing editor and thank you for keeping with this. Hopefully the massive amount of angst to come is what you're here for and not going to put you off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some minor gore in this chapter plus referenced torture and referenced fictional drug abuse. (Mostly) On par with the actual game.

Cullen tore through the papers on his desk, frantic. _I haven’t sent it off with a courier — it should still be here… There!_ — the docket from the Emerald Graves. He combed over it, looking for the section he had just read that afternoon.

 _Carroll._ Carroll was with the Red Templars now — and he would be at the Lion’s Pavillion for the next few weeks. Sending soldiers would take too much time, but he could reach the Graves on his own with a few days to spare. Leading an entire army would only slow him down, and he would lose this lead.

He needed to pack provisions; once he’d seen Cassandra, he would set out. He’d find Carroll, make him tell him where Samson was. Once Carroll was dead, he’d make Samson tell him where Corypheus was. _They will pay for this._

He went up to his loft and opened his small chest of clothes,fishing out the bag he always kept packed in case he was deployed on short notice. Cullen had hoped he would next have need of it when he and Cat pursued Samson together…

If he couldn’t hunt the man down with her at his side, then he would do it in her name.

Most of his basic needs were already there: spare clothes, tools for the upkeep of his sword and armor, a comb…but it lacked anything of sentimental value. Other than his brother’s coin, he hadn’t been one to carry such things around, even after leaving the Order. When he’d handed the coin over to Cat, its absence from his pocket had been enough: enough to know that she carried a part of his life with her always.

Now though… now, he needed something of hers. Something to hold onto. Something to focus on. He just needed something, anything, to focus on. Something to keep her with him now that she…

He closed his eyes and exhaled. He felt the weight of his sword at his side, a reminder that he did have something to focus on: the steel in his hands, the hollowness in his heart, the roar of anger in his ears — his revenge. That would be his focus.

His pack also lacked provisions; dry rations attracted mice, and potions risked being crushed in his trunk. He’d go to the kitchen and then the Undercroft to pick up his remaining supplies.

 _Lyrium_.

The memory of its smell still lingered, but this wasn’t a craving; not like earlier. _This_ was a conscious thought. If he were to go out on his own, he’d be wise to use every resource available to him. Not only would he be free from withdrawal, but his templar skills would return in force as well. The thought then became a craving in earnest; his throat was dry, and it ached. He clenched his hands to hold back the involuntary twitching in his fingers.

 _No_.

He’d leave the lyrium behind. The odds of him coming upon any aggressive mages was slim, especially with all of the Red Templars about. _After everything my addiction has put Cat through…_ It was too much for him to just throw that all away.

He swung the pack over shoulders, slid down the ladder, and rushed out the door toward the kitchen. When he reached the lower courtyard, a skeletal hand grabbed his wrist.

“You need to stay for her! She would want you to stay!” Cole was back to actually addressing him directly once more. The grip he had on Cullen’s wrist was crushing. Snot ran freely down from the boy’s nose — and he was shouting again.

“I agreed to stay until Cassandra was back in Skyhold,” Cullen reminded him firmly. “I have no intention of going back on my word.”

Cole shook his head, limp hair flying everywhere. “She’s alive! You need to listen to her!”

Despite Cole's emphatic insisting, Cullen couldn’t make any sense of the words. “I will listen to Cassandra when she returns. But I will need to leave immediately after.”

Cullen tugged on his hand, trying to get the boy to release him, but Cole’s grip tightened painfully. Then his voice trailed off, and Cole slid back into a near-catatonic fugue. “She’s alive. I couldn’t save the others, but she’s still alive.”

Cullen was finally able to break free, but only after he’d yanked his wrist away sharply.

“She’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive,” Cole continued to mutter.

“I’m afraid that’s all he’s been saying, Commander,” Solas said as he approached the two. “I haven’t been able to get anything else from him except the occasional word here and there. I haven’t even been able to get him out of the courtyard.”

“Is he staying out of the way? I won’t have him slowing the mages’ progress, especially after everything it took to clear the nobles out.”

“He hasn’t been underfoot, but until Cassandra returns there isn’t much for them to do.”

“I should get back to it, then.”

Cullen nodded his farewell and resumed his walk toward the kitchens until Cole gripped his bicep, stopping him yet again. “Stay,” was the simple command.

Dawn was still distant, but the sky was lightening just enough for the dark blue to wash out the torchlight, casting long, dancing shadows across Cole’s face. It made him look even more ghostly and ominous.

“You should let Commander Cullen return to his duties,” Solas stated.

“Stay,” he whispered. Until this point, Cole had seemed intent on simply stopping Cullen; now, he began directing the Commander toward the gates. “You need to stay.”

Cullen resisted for only a moment when he heard a horn call in the distance.

“I believe they must be returning,” Solas said.

“I think you’re right.”

Cole released his hold on Cullen, and all three jogged over to the front gate. Once there, Cullen could see a large group with several torch carriers marching down the bridges; several mages rushed past to greet them. He could feel the Fade pull around him as several of them fade-stepped down the bridge in haste.

“She’s alive. She’s alive. I couldn’t help, but she’s alive.” Cole’s mutterings started to become louder, firmer. They were no longer half-whispered thoughts, directed at no one, but deliberate sentences. “She’s alive. She’s alive.”

“Hopefully once he sees Cassandra, Cole will calm enough for us to get some more answers from him,” Solas said.

The group of people hurried up the bridge. As they drew closer, Cole’s litany became louder and louder. Cole wasn’t quite shouting, but Cullen could hear him over the din of yelled orders from the healers.

“Seeker Pentaghast, you need to stop!” Cullen heard one of the mages yell.

“Cassandra seems to be conscious,” Solas remarked.

“And being a stubborn arse from the sounds of it.” Cullen ran out to meet the group, hoping to stop Cassandra from doing anything stupid and getting herself killed. If Cole wasn’t going to be of any use, then they would need Cassandra’s recount of the attack. As he got closer, he realized how miraculous it was that she was even alive, let alone awake enough to be harassing the healers. The torchlight reflected off the wet, dark splotches dripping from the underside of the stretcher.

 _If they have yet to stop the bleeding…_ Cullen feared Cole would be the only survivor.

“Commander!” One of the mages by Cassandra waved him over, and he quickened his steps. They didn’t stop for him, but they did clear an opening at Cassandra’s side so he could run alongside them to the Infirmary.

“Cassandra?”

She was stripped to the waist, but any flesh that would have been exposed was covered by bandages. Many had bled through already, and half of her face was purple and swollen. She could barely open one eye, but when it cracked open and landed on Cullen’s face, she tried to sit up.

“None of that!” the mage snapped, placing a hand on her bandaged shoulder and pressing her back onto the stretcher.

“She’s been mumbling and trying to leave the whole trip,” said the soldier carrying the back end of the litter. “I don’t think she knows where she is.”

“Cull—” Cassandra rasped. She could barely move her lips around the swelling, and it looked like her jaw was fractured, but Cullen met her gaze.There was clarity and understanding there — and fear. Cassandra was aware of what had happened, and of her condition. _She doesn’t think she is going to survive_.

“Cul-n,” she tried again, choking on the word.

He leaned in, trying to hear what was worth risking her life to say. If she thought these were to be her last words, he owed it to her to listen to them. It was difficult to understand her at first, barely there words hard to hear over the rush of their feet. The mage that had waved him over was also trying to heal the worst of her injuries, the musical hum of the Fade adding to the cacophony drowning out Cassandra’s voice.

Once she had repeated herself several times, however, Cullen started hearing the pattern in her words. She was just repeating the same phrase over and over, and each time Cullen was able to catch just a little bit more.

Though, if he hadn’t been listening to the exact same words repeated throughout the night, he’d likely never have been able to put it together.

“She’s alive,” Cassandra rasped. “I couldn’t stop them, but she’s alive. She’s alive, Cullen.”

As they passed through the portcullis, Cole’s voice joined in, repeating the phrase. “‘She’s alive. She’s alive. I made sure of it. She’s alive.’”

Cassandra’s barely-open eye flickered over to Cole. Once she saw him, she allowed herself to truly lay back and rest. Cullen stepped aside, allowing them to move on to the Infirmary without him.

“‘I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t help the others. But she’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.’”

“Cat’s alive…” he whispered. His body quaked in relief, the adrenaline leaving his system in a rush. He caught movement out of the corner of his eyes and turned to see Cole shifting from foot to foot. “Cat’s alive! So you’ve been repeating Cassandra’s thought this _whole time_?”

“Words. Important words. So important and so loud!” Cole told him. His hat had rematerialized, and Cole was wringing it in his hand. “Couldn’t do anything, not until her words were heard and out of my head. You had to hear them but you weren’t listening!”

Cullen grabbed Cole by the collar. He pulled back a fist but Solas had placed a surprisingly firm grip on his arm.

“More violence will not help us find out what happened out there.”

“If we’d known that Cat was alive — we could have been looking for her all this time!”

“We already have been,” Solas said placidly. “Scouts have been combing the area ever since Cassandra was found.”

“Looking for a corpse!”

“Looking for any clue as to what happened.” Solas’ grip continued to tighten until Cullen released Cole.

Solas turned his attention to Cole. “Are you better now, Cole?”

“Words are out and thoughts are in. I tried to help, I tried to save them but I couldn’t.”

Cullen wasn’t sure how this was an improvement on the incoherent rambling, but Solas took it as an encouraging sign. “You said the Templars killed her. Did you mean Madame Vivienne?”

“Even though she was afraid of me, she was afraid of them more, and afraid for the others. Fear, anger, determination. _They’ll have to kill me to get to her._ They wouldn’t stop, so she didn’t stop. She would never stop until they stopped her, filled the Iron Lady with steel.”

“What happened to Cat?” Cullen was done dancing around this. They needed answers. _He_ needed answers.

“They wanted her — so sharp and jagged, thoughts always ricocheting. I couldn’t control them, but I tried. I could see how much they wanted her, wanted her so badly I couldn’t make them forget. Vivienne was already lost. Cassandra broken, bleeding, bruised. But she wanted me to protect her. I wanted to go after her but so many wants, wanted, wanting! The Inquisitor knew it too, so she made me stay. Made me hide. Made me protect Cassandra. But I wanted to help!”

“What the fuck is he on about?” Sera’s voice rang out. The rest of the Inner Circle was with her; they must have seen Cassandra’s return.

Solas sighed. “I think the Red Templars wanted to capture the Inquisitor alive. When Caitlin realized this, she asked Cole stay and watch over Cassandra.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you go after them?” Sera yelled at the spirit.

“ _I_ wanted to, but _she_ didn’t want me to,” Cole whimpered.

“It was the right move, Kid.” Varric put a consoling hand on Cole’s shoulder. “If she wanted you to do something, then you were right to listen to her.”

“But I didn’t help!” Cole cried. “Everyone is hurting and I could have stopped that hurt!”

“No, you couldn’t have, Cole,” Solas insisted. “If you hadn’t helped Cassandra, she would have died as well. And now we know what happened, because you listened to the Inquisitor.”

Cole gave a solemn nod, but he seemed to take everyone’s words as mere platitudes.

 _Doesn’t she know how important she is? Why didn’t she fight longer? Harder? Why didn’t she tried to fight more for herself? Why didn’t she try to fight more for_ me _?_

Cole looked at him. “She knew it would hurt you. She didn’t want to hurt you, but she didn’t want others to hurt more.”

Cullen had heard tales of Cole’s mind reading, had even experienced it via a third party, but it was something different when he stared at you with those eerie blue eyes. You could almost feel him shifting around in there, seeing past your eyes. “Stay out of my head,” he ordered.

“You blame me,” Cole said simply.

“Yes, I do,” he growled; there was no point in denying it.

Cole stared at him, unfazed and unblinking. “I blame me, too.”

To Cullen’s relief, no one attempted to assure the boy that he was guiltless; he couldn’t handle that at the moment.

Josephine clapped her hands together. “The sun is almost up, and it has been a long night for us all. We should get some sleep while we can.”

Cullen bit back a bitter laugh; if sleep had been elusive before, there was no chance he would be able to find it now.

Most of the group began walking toward the Keep, but Cullen stood there, running a hand through his hair. He wished to remain near the infirmary in case there was any change in Cassandra’s condition, but he didn’t need to be pacing in worry in front of his men. He had already given them enough of a show as it was. His office seemed too confining — and Cat’s room would feel suffocating without her there. He would normally seek solace in the garden’s Chantry, but he had ordered all of the nobles to stay there. He didn’t need an audience right now, let alone _that_ one.

He startled slightly when a hand clasped his shoulder. He turned to see Dorian, looking as wrung out as he felt.

“I doubt either of us will find any sleep right now, my friend. Come, join me for some brandy.”

Cullen shook his head. “I don’t think drinking would be wise right now.”

Dorian shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I’d still like the company.” He walked away slowly, giving Cullen a chance to join him if he wished. Not knowing what else to do, he followed Dorian back to the library.

Normally they would have played chess, but his personal set was missing several pieces, and he wasn’t going anywhere near the garden until the nobles had cleared out. Instead, he dragged a hard wooden chair over to Dorian’s nook of the library, tapping his feet restlessly while the mage hunted down the ‘good stuff’ he’d ‘liberated’ from the ‘uncultured swines’ in the Herald’s Rest.

Dorian eventually reappeared, bottle in one hand and two brandy snifters in the other. He set the glasses on a side table so that he could open the bottle; once the stopper was free he paused to inhale deeply, a pleased smile tilting his perfectly styled mustache.

“They really didn’t know what they had, the fools.” He gave the bottle a swirl, examining it in the early light, before finally pouring himself a glass.

Cullen just stared at him, unsure how to respond. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for brandy?” he finally said.

“Since I haven’t been to bed yet, I think that must count for something. And after last night…”

Dorian moved to pour a second glass, but Cullen waved him off. He wasn’t a man for drinking — although if there was no work to be done, he might indulge on occasion. And he certainly understood what Dorian meant. Still, he valued his control too much to imbibe when he might be needed at a moment’s notice.

They watched in silence as Solas entered the rotunda below and settled into the settee.

“Watch this,” Dorian said with a pointed nod. “The man can fall asleep instantly.”

Cullen peered over the railing; sure enough, the elven mage below was slumped over and snoring in less time than it had taken him to sit down.

Cullen looked on with disbelief. “Is he always this way?”

“Every time I’ve seen him. He can even do it out in the field. Covered in muck, dragon, his poor fashion choices, doesn’t matter. When he decides to sleep…” Dorian trailed off with a shrug.

The tower was usually the busiest part of the keep; that is not to say it was filled with the sound of gossiping nobles like the Great Hall. Still, between the messengers running to and fro, researchers turning over crinkling pages, ravens squawking occasionally, it was never silent.

But now, silence was everywhere.

The tower lacked its usual signs of life. With everyone in their bedrooms, and the mages attending to Cassandra, there were no hurried footsteps running up and down the stairs. The fussy librarian wasn’t around bemoaning the disorganized shelves. A solitary Tranquil researcher worked in her corner, seemingly unaffected by the previous night’s uproar, but she wasn’t one to make any noise. She had no need to shift in her seat to relieve stiff muscles or to cough to clear a dry throat. Even the rookery was still, most ravens likely sent out to gather intel or issue orders.

Cullen couldn’t bear the quiet any longer. “Why do you think they took her?” he blurted out.

If Dorian was surprised by this outburst, he gave no outward sign of it, merely frowning in concentration. “I haven’t the faintest idea. It does seem rather out of character for the other side. I thought Corypheus was dead set on killing her. Why take her hostage all of a sudden?”

Cullen mulled the question over. He didn’t notice as his eyes grew heavy and his breathing slowed. He was in the Fade before he realized it.

The demon had him trapped and was once again using Neria’s form.

A fingernail — no, a claw — dragged across his jaw. He could still see Neria’s arm — her _severed_ arm — twenty paces from him.

Cullen was still in pain from the previous round of burning cold. It didn’t matter that this was in his head; first just a trick of the demon, now just a trick of the Fade and his own broken mind. No matter what he told himself, he was still in Kinloch Hold and his skin still felt frozen and brittle; unmoving.

“Just let us in. It will stop hurting. It will even be pleasant…” The demon let its promises linger in the air, allowing his own thoughts to fill in the rest.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,” he murmured. “I will not falter!” he barked at the demon.

“I know you desire me.” The demon had come around to face him wearing Neria’s face. Blue eyes— _so innocent… She completed her Harrowing only a few days ago —_ were framed by her dark skin and pale hair.

Cullen knew her eyes hadn’t held that innocence in the end. In the short hours of Uldred’s rebellion that she had survived, they’d changed dramatically.

They had been so full of fear at first… But they quickly turned frigid with determination, dead set on protecting her unharrowed friends. In the end, they were grotesquely large with betrayal and horror when one of those same friends gave into the demons and plunged a knife into her back.

Cullen had watched, trapped by the demon that currently stood in front of him, unable to help as the shades descended upon her body. They tore her apart, along with all the mages she had died to protect.

The demon pulled him out of his thoughts when she ran a small hand over the generous breasts peeking through a serendipitous ( _calculated_ ) tear in her mage robes. “I know you’ve thought about me. Thought about what you would do to me. Thought about slipping me a note, asking me to meet you in a dark hallway so you could lead me to your room. You’d undress me, slowly taking your time, discovering what exactly lies under these robes.” She casually tore away more of the fabric on her chest.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.” He shouldn’t have picked Benedictions. The smell of blood was everywhere. One of his Templar brothers wrote out “his will, his will, his will” over and over in the blood dripping from a hole in his gut. Cullen bit back his nausea.

“I’d go with you now if you want,” Surana — no, the _demon_ — told him. “I’d lay down, all sweet and shy, just as you’ve pictured me. And I know you’ve pictured me.” She gave him that small smile that he had always thought of as kind, but now appeared more like a leer. “Just say yes.”

Cullen didn’t reply. He searched for another section of the Chant.

Growing tired with this particular farce, the demon said, “No one’s going to rescue you. And after this, no one will ever love you.”

 _That’s not true,_ a part of him whispered. _You’re beyond this. You’re free of this. You just need to_ wake up!

He jerked into consciousness, nearly headbutting Dorian in the process.

“You alright?” Dorian asked, managing to sound concerned and disinterested all at once.

Cullen’s heart was racing, and he tried to draw in enough air. “Yes, give me a moment.” He leaned forward from the chair he had been slumped in. His neck and back were sore but he didn’t mind; it helped pull him back into the here and now.

 _That same dream, two days in a row_. Only this time, he didn’t have Cat next to him to help chase it away.

He pinched his temples with one hand, hoping the pressure would help drive the building headache away. It wasn’t nearly as effective as Cat’s massages, but it alleviated the pain enough. Cullen shook his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep here.”

“You’re not the only one to indulge in a little nap, and nowhere near as lazy as some.” Dorian nodded toward Solas who was still sleeping below.

Cullen couldn’t even pull together the ghost of a smile at Dorian’s dig. “Still, I hope my nightmare wasn’t too disruptive.”

Dorian eyebrows rose in surprise. “I wasn’t even aware that you wer _e_ _having_ a nightmare.”

Cullen looked up at his friend. “They why were you hovering over me?”

“Well, I _was_ trying to wake you. Cassandra’s conscious, and she wants to see you.”

  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the subscriptions, kudos, reblogs on tumblr, and comments! They help push me forward when I start feeling a little burnt out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter (chapter 6) is going to contain some subject matter that others find disturbing. It's not graphic, it's not even shown, but it's still there. Problem is that it is a bit of a spoiler to the fic as a whole and a tag is just as explicit at the content itself. If you worry about being triggered by it, feel free to message me on tumblr or email or whatever and I will absolutely tell you what it is. All I ask is that it is off anon so I can reply privately. From chapter 7 onwards, the story will be tagged for that content.

 

Cullen opened the door to the infirmary, illuminating a corner covered with rust colored bandages and flies. Cassandra’s litter was propped next to it, the frighteningly large bloodstain standing out sharply against the bleached white of the rest of the cloth. Beneath the blood and elfroot, the smell of freshly put out candles still lingered in the air, and almost every surface bore dripped wax or a candle.

He saw some movement and turned to see Leliana shielding her eyes against the daylight pouring in from behind him. Cullen shut the door, and once his eyes adjusted, he could see Cassandra lying in a cot.

Her face was still purple, but much of the swelling had gone down. Where she wasn’t covered in bandages or bruises, Cassandra’s normally tan skin was waxen. Cullen could feel the metallic tinge of blood in the back of his throat, something that went deeper than smell alone.

“Good, you’re here,” Cassandra rasped out in greeting. She was more intelligible than before, but panting with effort. “I only have to do this once.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like I was mauled by a behemoth. Which I was.” _Maker’s breath, a behemoth!_ “It was a complete ambush,” Cassandra whispered. “They were organized, lying in wait for us.”

“Were we betrayed?” Leliana asked. He knew she’d been expecting spies in the ranks, but this would’ve required more than just a soldier slipping in with other volunteers.

“I don’t believe so. It’s a— ” she began coughing and Leliana held out a potion, gently tipping it into Cassandra’s mouth. Once she’d caught her breath, she tried again. “It’s a path the Inquisitor is known to take; merchants use it to avoid the soldiers’ camp. While it’s not a secret, it’s not frequently used, so patrols are sparse.”

“Which is probably why Cat likes it,” he grumbled. If he hadn’t been out of his mind with worry, he’d have wanted to strangle her. “I’ll see to it that it’s changed. The Inquisitor will simply have to deal with acting like the Herald of Andraste for a few more miles.” _And once she’s safely home, we will have_ another _talk about taking idiotic risks._

“There is a place where the path narrows down and offers a blind turn,” Cassandra continued. “They took me out first — ran me through with a sword, even astride my horse. I believe it was because I was first in the line, not a specific target.”

“That’s what Cole had told us,” Leliana corroborated.

Cullen gritted his teeth. “When did you question him? And why was I not present?”

“Because Solas thought it would be best for Cole if you weren’t there.” Leliana replied, turning to face him.

“And why does that _apostate_ get to make those kinds of decisions?” he spat.

“Because I agreed with him.” She tilted her head and her hood shifted, cloaking her face in shadow. “I saw how you manhandled Cole, and we needed straight answers. Ones I do not believe we would get if—”

“Enough.” Cassandra could hardly yell, but her voice was firm enough to cut through their bickering. “We are without the Inquisitor for one day, and we are already falling apart.”

Her sobering comment stopped them both.

The silence hung in the air until Cullen finally asked, “What happened next?”

“I was fighting one of their knights, until a behemoth ran into me. I thought I broke my leg, but they tell me it was my hip.” Cullen winced; that was a hard injury to heal, magic only capable of so much. Cassandra was in for a long recovery.

“Once I was neutralized,” she continued, “they left me alone and mainly focused on the Inquisitor. Vivienne though…” She paused for a coughing fit that wracked her body and left a speckling of dark red around her lips. Cullen blanched at the sight of it; this was more than just a matter of recovery. If Cassandra was still coughing up blood, then she wasn’t out of the woods yet. The healers likely stopped because the strain of magic on her battered body was doing more harm than good.

“She must have realized that they weren’t as rough with the Inquisitor. Or maybe they said something about it. I kept losing time. But Vivienne fought until the very end. She was not going to let them leave.”

Cullen heart swelled in affection for Vivienne. They may have butted heads once or twice, but they both held a great deal of respect for each other. And now he would be forever beholden to the mage.

“I must have blacked out again, because the next thing I remember was Cole trying to move me. They were marching away with the Inquisitor draped over one of their shoulders. I don’t know if they would have returned to make sure I was dead, but I am certain I would not have been found there.”

“According to Cole, Cat figured out that they wanted her,” Cullen explained with only a hint of bitterness. “She ordered him to stay and protect you.”

“Then I am indebted to them both,” Cassandra murmurred.

Her body spoke to how hard she had fought to protect the rest of the party, and her very survival spoke to her resilience. Cullen found that his resentment toward Cole had lessened. He couldn’t begrudge Cassandra her life — not in the wake of Vivienne’s death.

Even though Cassandra was exhausted, Cullen was determined to get answers. “And Caitlin was still alive when they took her?” he pressed.

“Yes, I am certain of it. She looked directly at me and shook her head when she saw that I was trying to go after them.”

Cullen shook his head in disbelief. “She just…stopped fighting? Cat doesn’t give up. She marched for hours in a blizzard. She thinks dragon hunting is fun! She doesn’t _just_ give up!”

“They were Templars, Cullen,” Leliana reminded him. “Cole said the behemoth had broken her legs, and her mana was drained. They picked her up and walked off.”

Cullen stood there, mouth agape, searching for the right words. The idea of Caitlin simply giving in was preposterous.

Leliana leaned forward pensively onto her forearms, hands clasped in front of her. “The more important question is _why now_? Corypheus made it clear that he only wanted the Inquisitor dead.”

“I could not tell you,” Cassandra replied. “But I know she was alive when they left. I know she was.” She said it with such vehemence that Leliana reached out to still her, afraid she would do more harm to herself. Cassandra’s eyes were growing glassy, unfocused. The potion Leliana had given her must have been working.

“I know. Cole confirmed as much,” Leliana reassured her, gently rubbing the small patch of unbandaged skin.“Some of our scouts have returned with Vivienne. She’ll be given a proper pyre and be honored for her sacrifice.” She began tucking the Seeker in, the familiarity reminding Cullen of how long the two women had known each other. “So, you have three days to get well. Any longer and I’ll know you’re just playing it up for attention — and Vivienne would never forgive you if you didn’t come to her final party.”

Cassandra gave a dopey grin — a phrase he never thought he would apply to the Seeker — but was asleep before the smile was even fully formed.

They both quietly slipped out of the room as two healers slipped back in.

Cullen began to head for his tower, but Leliana’s voice stopped him. “You may wish to visit Josie, Commander.”

He cocked a questioning eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Did you really lock up all the nobles last night?” Her self-satisfied smirk reminded him of Mia’s when he was about to get into trouble.

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Maker’s breath, she wants to lecture me about that? They were out of control.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree with you.” She sounded jaded, disillusioned with the Grand Game and its players. “In fact, after Vivienne’s pyre service, I’m going to strongly suggest that the nobles leave.”

“You think that’s wise?” Cullen hated them, but he knew their influence gave the Inquisition a sense of legitimacy — something they needed now more than ever.

“In terms of our image, no. But we need to keep this as quiet as possible. Spies cannot hide among people who are not here.”

“Are there any rumors I should know about?” Cullen wasn’t one for gossip, but he knew just how quickly things could worsen if the tales of Cat’s death had taken root. The Inquisition was at war with Corypheus, but he wasn’t their only enemy.

“So far, they have been mostly nonsense. Actually, I should thank you, Cullen.”

“Oh?” He was wary of the amusement in Leliana’s voice.

“The nobles are so outraged by your treatment that all of their gossip is about you — specifically.”

“Perfect,” he groaned, running a hand over his face.

She snickered at his discomfort. “They question everything. Your background… Your qualifications… What the Inquisitor even sees in you.”

“I’m glad to have been of use.”

Her smirk faded. “It _is_ useful. I know you hate the Game, and this isn’t exactly Halamshiral, but shifting their focus from the real problems to you will work in our favor. Their interest in you won’t last long — and with Vivienne’s funeral, they will think only of themselves and their false grief, not the efforts to recover the Inquisitor.”

With a nod toward the keep, they fell in step and began walking toward the Great Hall. “What is being done?” His nap had cut him off from any new information.

“The scouts discovered where the fight took place. They’re tracking the Templars as best they can, but they’re moving quicker than our scouts can follow. I fear they’re heading to Sahrnia.”

“Is that a problem? I know we already have a camp there.”

“A camp yes, just outside of the town — but Emprise is a base of operations for the Red Templars. They have complete control of the area. They even have a keep there; we needed the Inquisitor to take a small tactical team to recover it. If that’s where they are heading, we won’t be able to follow right away.”

Cullen’s brows drew together in confusion. “And why not just take the place by force? Mobilize some troops and lay siege.”

“A siege on Suledin Keep would take months, and we don’t even know that’s where she will be held. I’m sending out my best spies, but I fear it won’t be enough.”

He rounded on her. “We’re not giving up!” he insisted.

“Of course not.” Leliana rubbed her eyes, exhaustion creeping into her voice. He wondered if she had slept at all. “I’ve pulled all of my agents back and sent them in that direction. If they take her out of Emprise, we should know. I’m also trying a few… less conventional tactics. We will get her back, Cullen.”

They had reached the Great Hall. Leliana headed back to the rookery with a smug “Good luck!” as he continued on to Josephine’s office.

He arrived to find several elves standing around, all looking distinctly uncomfortable. Josephine was sitting behind her desk, staring them down, willing them to leave. If she’d been a mage, they would have likely all been on fire. He couldn’t figure out whatever for — they all looked like they _wanted_ to leave.

It was then that he noticed their outfits. Some wore the livery of notable Orlesian houses, but most were in rags; they were the nobles’ servants. They must usually stay out of sight because of Cat’s strong opinions on elven servants, but with her gone, the nobles must be feeling brave. _Not an encouraging sign_.

Josephine spotted him through the crowd, and her eyes narrowed meaningfully before turning back to the servants. “You can assure your employers that I will handle this,” she said firmly. “But until then, you must continue to listen to those in charge of our safety. Please return to your designated areas.”

The group filed out of the office with some grumbling and dragging of feet, unhappy that they wouldn’t have more to take back to their employers. Cullen discreetly stepped out of their way, taking a half step down toward the dark cellar. But a few noticed him, and shot him nasty looks; they knew who was responsible for their current misfortune.

Once Josephine closed the door behind the last them, she turned on Cullen and poked his chestplate. “I should have _you_ deal with them. This is your mess after all.”

He shook his head, bemused. “Feel free to send any complaining Orlesians my way.”

“You would only make matters worse,” she scoffed.

She turned her back on him, and he followed her back to her desk. “I can’t help that the Orlesians are completely useless.”

As she sat down behind her desk, she waved at him dismissively. “You Fereldans and your old prejudices.”

Now it was his turn to scoff. “This has nothing to do with the Orlesian occupation. They were on the verge of causing a riot last night and preventing anyone from doing actual work!”

“And you believed that locking them all up in the garden was the best solution?”

“It was all I could do last night. Has Leliana talked to you about removing them from Skyhold?”

“She mentioned it, yes. I don’t think it’s wise, but I’m not even certain that making them leave will be necessary. Many wish to leave already, offended by their treatment here.”

“Encourage that. They _should_ go. Not just because of the risk of spies, but also because we don’t know what Corypheus has planned. Now that they have the Inquisitor, we must brace for an attack. We should reduce the number of civilians at Skyhold. I do not wish for a repeat of Haven.”

“Nor I,” she agreed. “Maybe you’re right. We should go into lockdown until we have more information.”

“Another point to consider: we will likely be marching on Corypheus. We won’t leave Skyhold defenseless, but we won’t have a large enough force here to defend a castle full of civilians.”

“Very well,” she sighed, resigned. “I will _kindly_ ask them to leave after Vivienne’s funeral. I doubt we will be able to get any to leave before then.”

He nodded in confirmation and began to depart, when Josephine’s voice stopped him. “Cullen, how are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“No, you’re not,” she said kindly. “None of us are.”

He could see the strain the night had taken on her. She had likely gotten more sleep than most, and Josephine was rarely seen with a hair out of place, but still — her eyes were tight, and her voice trembled.

“We will get her back. I won’t rest until we do.”

“And that’s what concerns me. Cullen, you need to take care of yourself. Working yourself to the bone will not help the Inquisition. For now, let Leliana’s spies do what must be done while you prepare for the days to come. That means more than just preparing our troops.”

“I’m alright, Josephine,” he assured her.

“When was the last time you had a proper meal? Or slept in a bed?”

“I know how much I’m needed. I will take care of myself as well.” The truth was he hadn’t even thought about a meal, and he considered the nap in the library more than sufficient.

“I’ll stop fussing,” she conceded. “But be aware — I’m not above tattling on you once Caitlin is back safely.”

He faked a smile for her benefit. “Andraste save me.”

The smile she gave in return seemed more natural, but was half a second too late to be entirely sincere.

“Madame de Fer’s pyre service will be in three days. Do you wish your attire sent to your room or Caitlin’s?”

There was no teasing in her question. She wasn’t making light of his relationship with Cat. It was a legitimate question about where he would like the clothes sent — and yet his gut clenched up in anger as she spoke.

His hand tightened around the pommel of his sword as he searched for words to yell at her. Josephine looked up from her paperwork, reacting to the creaking of his gloves or merely curious about his delay.

Her question had been made lightly, but the watery sheen in her eyes revealed how hard it had been to ask. It kept Cullen from saying the harsh _something_ he knew he would have regretted.

“My tower will be fine,” was his stiff reply. He paused, her words finally sinking in. “My attire? When did you have funeral clothes made?”

Josephine swallowed and looked away. “After the events at Redcliffe and Haven, I thought it would be wise to have some commissioned before warning the Empress. I ordered them with our uniforms for Halamshiral. They were meant for a state funeral. I hadn’t thought it would be for one of our own…” A tear had managed to fall, but the ambassador leaned back so it didn’t land on any of her papers.

He discreetly excused himself, leaving Josephine to her grief.

* * *

 

Cullen startled at a tell-tale creak; someone was climbing his ladder.

“You really should have this fixed!” Dorian said, by way of greeting.

Cullen looked at him, confused. “What are you doing up here, Dorian?”

Dorian huffed. “I’ve been calling out to you for several minutes. When you didn’t reply, I wanted to make sure you were even here.”

“Where else would I be?” Cullen turned back to his mirror and basin, determined to tame his hair in time for the funeral.

He could see Dorian’s shrug in the tarnished mirror. “You do spend a lot of time in Cat’s room, even when she isn’t here.”

He picked at the knots in his hair. “My tower lets me see when new ravens arrive.” That explanation was easier than the truth; Cullen’s nightmares were getting worse, and he didn’t want the rest of the keep to hear him.

“What do you think of our new uniforms? Slightly better than that red mess, but they’re still very… Southern.”

Cullen looked down at the sombre grey uniform they both wore. “I would have preferred my armor.”

“Yes, well, united front and all that. At least you get to keep your sword.” Dorian began wandering restlessly about the room. “You’ve only just bothered to shave for the first time in days, yet you’re spending all this time styling your hair. You preen more than I do, man.”

Cullen dragged his comb through the mess. “I’m not _styling_ it; I’m simply trying to make it presentable.”

Dorian walked up behind him. “Well no wonder; that comb is practically useless.” He was right; the comb was a mess. Several teeth were broken, and others were missing entirely — but Cullen’s good one was in Cat’s room.

“It’s fine,” Cullen grumbled, putting the comb down. He took a small bit of cream and dragged it through his curls, forcing them to hold their position throughout the day. While the fresh shave and combed hair didn’t dispel the dark circles under his eyes or mask the tremor in his hands, Cullen looked presentable enough.

They both climbed down to Cullen’s office, stopping so Cullen could strap on his sword, a concession made to mark Cullen’s military position within the Inquisition.

“As your friend, I feel like I should warn you that there is a standing bet about whether you will yell at an Orlesian today.”

Cullen shrugged. Once, being the subject of a bet may have offended him; but now the Orlesians had worn on him more than usual, and there had been several near misses. They had switched to all-black attire and their masks were pulled into grotesque mockeries of mourning.

With his sword strapped on, he turned to find Dorian looking through some papers on Cullen’s desk. “You planning on doing anything with this?” Dorian asked, holding out a letter.

Cullen didn’t need to see it to know what it was; he had been staring at it for the last three days. “I brought it to Leliana’s attention, but she doesn’t think knowing the Red Templar movements in the Emerald Graves is relevant right now.”

“Well, it is rather out of the way. Still, having the position of one of their leaders must be useful.”

Cullen gave a tight smile. “Other matters require our focus.”

“I suspect that after tomorrow, this will be something that gets discussed further?” Dorian asked with a note of frustration as well.

All eyes were on the Inner Circle, and everyone was feeling the strain. With the Inquisitor missing, they had now become the center of focus, and the tension was palpable.

Thankfully, Josephine had managed to poke and prod and encourage all of their guests to leave after the funeral. For the first time since its rediscovery, Skyhold would be housing the Inquisition alone.

Cullen and Dorian stepped out onto the battlements. The Inquisition’s banners, covered with some sheer black cloth for the occasion, were snapping in the wind. Cullen could see the wood for the pyre, set up near their former field infirmary — and he noted that everyone was wisely standing upwind.

The courtyard was almost as bad as Halamshiral. The Orlesians were out in droves, barking orders not only at their own servants but at anyone with pointed ears who happened passed. Cullen stopped short when he heard a barrel-chested man call Sera a “crude little rabbit,” as she walked out of earshot; only Dorian’s hand on his shoulder kept him from marching up and punching the noble himself.

“It wouldn’t be worth the headache you’d cause our poor ambassador,” Dorian told him. “Nor the bruised knuckles.”

Cullen only relaxed when he saw Blackwall say something that left the man storming off in a huff. He often forgot that the faux Warden had once moved in these circles and knew how to play the Game.

“Come along, Commander,” Dorian chirped, gesturing toward the stairs. “We’re to stand over here, above all the rabble.”

Most of the Inner Circle was already in position. Josephine was running around attending to the myriad of inevitable little emergencies, and Leliana was conversing with Mother Giselle. The Revered Mother was to lead the services along with Grand Enchanter Fiona; though relations between the two women had always been strained, the mage likely knew Vivienne better than Skyhold’s other occupants.

Cullen stood next to the Iron Bull.

“Quit fidgeting, you lummox!” Dorian snapped at him.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Sera remarked. “This stupid costume is stupid, and the stupid Orlesians are stupid, and the whole stupid thing is fucking shite!”

“How delicately put, Sera,” Solas remarked dryly, not sparing her a glance. It was the first time Cullen had seen the mage awake in days; every time Cullen passed through the Solarium, he’d found Solas asleep on the settee.

“But it _is_ shite!” she insisted. “Not like they knew her. This is all just a show for them, the latest party to be seen at.”

Illustrating the point rather spectacularly, a duchess burst into over-dramatic sobs while several others rushed into to comfort her. He doubted she was someone who knew Vivienne well.

Those who had were the quiet ones, the ones who stayed closest to the pyre. That group was a mixture of more tactfully sombre masks and traditional Circle mage robes. Their tears fell without remark, thoughts all turned inward. Vivienne may have thought this was the proper way things were done, but this was not a service for those actually in mourning.

“She’d hate this,” Cullen remarked.

“Who, the Iron Lady?” asked Varric. “This is the sort of thing she lived for. She would’ve insisted on it — even if she did hate it.”

“No, not Vivienne — Caitlin. She has no patience for courtiers and gossip; she wouldn’t want to be a figurehead during something like this.”

“Dalish funeral services are more personal.” Solas’ voice was lower and heavier than usual, sounding rough with disuse. “They plant trees, offering new life to replace the life lost.”

“Ehh, Cat’s alright and all, but her elfy-elf business is weird.”

Leliana began walking toward them, and Cullen’s eyes roamed the crowd searching for Cassandra; he knew she was being allowed to attend. He visited her when he could, but the assortment of potions she was administered made Cassandra drowsy and limited her visiting hours. He finally spotted her on the other side of the courtyard. In the full daylight she looked even paler, but many of her scrapes and cuts had finally been healed. Still, she required the help of two healers to move at all, and a large orderly corporal was acting as a crutch.

Leliana followed his gaze. “She’s only allowed to attend the lighting ceremony; once the pyre is lit, she’ll be required to go back to her sick room.”

“The Seeker must be bored out of her mind,” Varric remarked. “She never struck me as the type to like laying around all day. Maybe I’ll head over with my new book once this is over.”

“You’re not going to the tavern to drink with us?” Bull asked.

“You think I’m braving the crowd after this? That place’ll be crawling with nobles. I’m drinking tomorrow.”

Josephine came to stand beside Cullen, and it seemed that was the cue for the services to begin.

The service passed in a dull blur for him. Mother Giselle recited several passages of the Chant of Light. Fiona took over at some point and spoke of Vivienne’s work with the mages. There was some mention of Duke Bastien’s recent passing… But Cullen couldn’t recall any actual details, only snippets of time. He only realized the service was coming to a close when the mages lit the pyre with the Grand Enchanter.

“Do you think we should have waited?” Josephine murmured next to him. “Vivienne died trying to protect the Inquisitor. I feel like Caitlin should be here.”

“No,” Cullen replied, not taking his eyes off of the pyre. “The Inquisitor wouldn’t want to be here for this.”

They all stood in silence, watching Vivienne burn. The thing was a farce. He felt no sadness or grief — only anger at the perfunctory nature of the whole affair. Given all that he owed Vivienne, she deserved proper funeral, something where people actually mourned her passing.

“I think I might join you for that drink tomorrow, Varric.”

Iron Bull nodded.“Me, too. Let’s send Viv off without all of these assholes.”

* * *

Varric knocked on Cullen door mid-afternoon. “You still coming, Curly?”

Cullen sighed, dropping the paperwork he was staring at before following the dwarf out the door.

Varric nodded toward the courtyard. “Quite the sight, isn’t it?”

Below them was utter chaos. The nobles had decided they were not going to remain in Skyhold for one more day. It was a mass exodus, and Cullen was not sorry to see them go.

His eyes did catch something odd in the chaos. Morrigan and Kieran had slipped out of a side stairwell and were moving through all of the servants and lords and ladies with long strides and great purpose. Weaving through the crowd, the pair slipped out the front gate and along the path leaving Skyhold. Cullen wasn’t especially surprised; Morrigan had made it clear that Caitlin was the only person she trusted in the Inquisition. Cullen made no comment; just continued on with Varric to the pub.

They entered the pub from the ramparts, the silence within the Herald’s Rest was downright peaceful compared to the chaos outside.

Cullen noted that Cole was missing from his usual spot; the boy had been avoiding him ever since the night they returned without Cat.

“You coming, Buttercup?” Varric yelled into Sera’s room as they passed.

The sound of small bare feet running across the wooden floor was the reply, and Sera joined them a second later.

They found most of the Inner Circle on the main floor, along with several mages. Leliana was probably in the rookery, Cassandra was still confined to bed, and Maker knew what Cole was up to. Solas’ was the only absence that Cullen couldn’t explain.

Maryden, in her usual spot, started gently plucking out “Empress of Fire” on her lute.

“You ask her to play this, Tiny?” Varric asked, grabbing a seat.

“Yeah, with a few other Orlesian folk songs,” Bull told them as they sat down at the bar. “She’d never admit it, but Viv had a soft spot for songs from her adopted homeland.”

“How could you know that?” Cullen wondered. He’d never known Vivienne to enter into the pub.

“Every time we were in Val Royeaux, she’d listen to the bards. Even caught her humming after the ball. She denied it, of course.”

“The Iron Lady was tough as nails,” Varric remarked. “An amazing woman.”

Bull raised his glass. “Yeah, she was.”

They got their drinks and began swapping stories. “I was going to make her a villain in my next serial,” Varric announced. “I thought she’d be offended, but she loved it.” He took a drink of his ale. “Started working on it last night; don’t think I’ve ever written that much in my life.”

“I was utter shite to her before she left.” Sera said, swaying on her stool; she’d been drinking heavily since they sat down, and it was beginning to show.

“Nah,” Bull assured her.

“No, I was!” she slurred. “I didn’t think she’d go and die.”

“Viv liked bickering with you,” Bull insisted. “It let her feel like she was back in power. She liked you for that.”

“You mean it? She was a bitch, yeah, but I liked that about her! Don’t like her thinking I hated her when she died.”

Cullen thought back to a conversation he’d had with Cat once. “I think Vivienne knew you respected her.”

“What makes you think that, Jackboot?”

“Ca—” He stopped himself from saying her name. “The Inquisitor was nervous about the ball. She’s not exactly known for holding back her opinions.” Everyone grinned in agreement. “She asked Vivienne for some tips on how to say what she _really_ wanted, without starting a war.” He had everyone’s attention, which unnerved him, but he kept going. “The Inquisitor asked Vivienne to have a similar conversation with you. Vivienne said something along the lines of, ‘let’s leave Sera be; she keeps me on my toes.’”

“She said that?” Cullen was shocked to see Sera tearing up.

“Yes, she did.” He thought it best to leave out the remark about how Vivienne didn’t think she could teach Sera anything.

“She was so angry at the choice I made for Halamshiral,” Josephine mused. “She marched into my office, insisting I have everything remade. I explained that it would be impossible to have them ready in time, and that our chosen attire would send a message to the court — that we were a united military power. I’d never seen her so mad. It was like I had ordered her into that plaidweave monstrosity the Inquisitor tried to make her wear.”

“Oh, we burned that,” Dorian remarked, settling into his seat, “along with the ridiculous hat Caitlin made for me. Such an ugly mess.”

“That’s where those went... ” Cullen joined in. “Caitlin tore her room apart trying to find them. _You_ claimed you had no idea where they went off to.”

“The First Enchanter and I vowed to never speak of it again, lest it give Cat the idea to try and remake them.”

“Don’t know what you nobs are on about. I like it,” Sera mumbled, picking at her yellow stockings.

“You know Viv didn’t take that whole clothes thing laying down, right?” Bull cut in. “She and the Boss were planning something.”

“Oh yes, _that_ ,” Josephine commented fondly.

“What’s this now?” Dorian asked, taking a long pull of the brandy he’d smuggled back into the pub.

“Oh, the Inquisitor rather agreed with Madame de Fer’s assessment of our clothing for the Ball. She had imagined something more dazzling, I wager. I believe “pouting” would best describe her reaction to the uniforms. I was reminded of Yvette, trying her best to seem grateful when she was clearly disappointed. Vivienne had Caitlin’s measurements sent to her personal tailor, with instructions to make the most beautiful dress. It was green sea silk, with the loveliest silver accents. It is the height of Orlesian fashion, but there are several subversive references to Elven culture hidden in the embroidery; it is truly a work of art.” Josephine smiled impishly into her sherry glass.

“After the nightmare of the ball, Vivienne slipped it into the Inquisitor’s room. I still remember how she ran through the Great Hall, clutching it tight. She couldn’t stop thanking Vivienne. Vivienne promised that she’d host a ball, a proper one, after the war, to make sure the Inquisitor would have a chance to wear it.” She sighed morosely. “I’m sorry that she’ll never get to see Caitlin in it.” Josephine bit back a sob, while Blackwall placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She placed a hand over his and gave it a squeeze back.

“She got me some feathers from Denerim once,” Sera spoke up. “Used to fletch my arrows with them. Didn’t even say anything about it, but one day she handed them over. Something about how an order got mixed up and she had no use for them. I knew it was bullshit because I went through her mail all the time. She must’ve ordered them. Innit funny? Don’t even know why she did it.”

“Vivienne was rather spectacular with her gift giving,” Dorian commented. “She always managed to find that one thing you never thought you’d be able to. It’s as if she was just collecting favors to trade in. If you weren’t so pleased, you’d almost be resentful.”

Cullen and several others startled when Cole suddenly spoke up. Cullen hadn’t seen the spirit join them; for all he knew, Cole hadn’t even been there until he spoke.

“She called me ‘Cole,’” the boy whispered. “In the end, she called me ‘Cole.’ Not ‘demon.’ She thought, ‘Cole needs to protect the Inquisitor.’” He let out a shuddering breath. “She’d never thought of me as Cole before. She was afraid of me, but then she was afraid _for_ me.”

The group grew quiet, all thinking about the remarkable life that had been lost.

Cullen heard the tavern door open, breaking the silence. Solas slipped into the pub, making his way around the crowd to stand behind Cullen. The elf leaned down to speak into Cullen’s ear. “May I speak with you, Commander? I believe I may have some news regarding the Inquisitor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all of the kudos and comments! You guys rock!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As previously warned, this chapter contains some content that may disturb some. Due to spoilers, the story is not yet tagged for that content. If you wish to find out what it is, either message me on my tumblr off-anon or you can even scroll just to the bottom of this chapter since the very last line is about as in depth as any tag would be. (And if you're just finding this fic well after this chapter has been posted, sorry, you're already spoiled from the updated summary.)
> 
> Due to various real world factors, the back half of this chapter is not as thoroughly edited as it normally is. Any mistakes are mine and I apologize. They'll likely be fixed later.

Cullen turned to look at Solas, searching his face for some clue as to what he might say. The apostate had always avoided any templars — himself included, and Solas had become even more reclusive in the past week.

“Of course,” Cullen rasped out, practically jumping up from his seat.

He followed Solas out of the pub. In the waning sunlight, the courtyard was trampled but quiet. Skyhold almost seemed empty now. He felt more at ease since that first horrible message had come, now free of the hundreds of eyes watching him.

Cullen scrutinized the man before him. He looked haggard: his eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders sagged. He never seemed to flag or wear out — even after the attack on Haven, Solas helped with the injured longer than any other mage. Cullen couldn’t understand why; the mage spent most of his time asleep these days.

“What do you know?” Cullen asked cautiously. “Why hasn’t Leliana come to me with this news?”

Solas tilted his head. “Has she not spoken to you about my work?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Cullen asked, “You’ve become one of her spies?”

“My particular talents are hardly suited for espionage, Commander,” Solas remarked dryly. “I suspect our spymaster knows as much.” Solas took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I had been searching for Caitlin in the Fade, with little success. As I have no way of knowing her physical location, finding her proved ...unexpectedly difficult.”

Cullen’s heart began to race. “But you believe you’ve found her?” he whispered.

“I made contact with her this afternoon.” Solas started toward the main staircase, motioning for Cullen to follow. “Only briefly. The templars are draining her mana, leaving sleep as her only means of entering the Fade. She was awoken before I could ascertain her location. Luckily, I’ve established a link that will allow me to locate her the moment she re-enters the Fade.”

“So this is simply a matter of being asleep at the same time?”

Solas confirmed with a nod.

Cullen looked around at the empty courtyard, destroyed by the fleeing nobles. The guest quarters were vacated now. “Can I assist you in some way? Better lodgings perhaps, or-”

Solas replied with a chuckle, raising a placating hand. “I assure you, the delay is from her end, not mine. Her absence from the Fade is the only remaining impediment.”

Cullen shook Solas’ hand vigorously. “Thank you for this,” he said earnestly. “I had begun to think— ” He cut himself off, refusing to voice his doubts — not when they were so close.

“Think nothing of it,” Solas said firmly. “I refuse to leave her at the mercy of madmen and their whims.” An odd look passed over Solas’ face, but he shook away wherever his thoughts had drifted. “I was wondering if there was anything you wished to ask the Inquisitor or for me to tell her?”

“Any identifying markers of her location. A count of her guards. Some clue as to why they had her kidnapped and kept alive could also prove helpful.”

Solas smiled as if indulging a child. “I do plan on gathering basic information about the templars along with my personal impressions of her location. I was referring to a message of a more _personal_ nature.”

“A perso-” Cullen could feel his cheeks heat up when he understood the elf’s request. “That is, I…”

“Caitlin simply wished to hear from you. She had a message for you, but they woke her.”

Cullen wracked his mind as he rubbed his neck, trying to find the right words. He certainly wanted to assure Cat, to tell her how much he loved her, missed her, was worried for her — but he wasn’t completely comfortable having Solas pass on such a message.

A ghost of a smile crossed Cullen’s lips as he thought back to his and Cat’s last morning together. “Tell her that I am still waiting for my knight in shining armor... She’ll understand my meaning.”

If Solas thought it was an odd thing to say, he gave no indication of it. “Very well,” he said with a nod. “I will inform you once I’ve spoken to her.” The two parted ways, each heading to their own sanctuary.

* * *

 

Impatient and anxious for news, Cullen couldn’t focus on paperwork, and with the troops called back and Rylen in camp, there wasn’t anything for him to _physically_ do other than pace in his tower well into the night. At a loss, he took out his set of throwing daggers — his aim improved, but his mood did not.

 _What is taking so long? Is this normal?_ _Was it mere chance that Solas found her? He said that they were draining her mana; would that keep her from dreaming?_

Restless, he took his sword and headed to the training yard.

Hacking at a training dummy was different than sparring sessions with his men; he could jab and strike with the familiar weight of his own blade.

His sword was the one constant in his adult life. His armor had changed, the banner he served under had changed, even his own beliefs had changed — but his sword was constant.

He ran through familiar drills, patterns he’d been running since adolescence. They settled him, let his mind focus on the moves.

_Swing. Thrust. Parry._

He sped up his steps. Gave his swings more power. Straw peeked through where he had repeatedly punctured the canvas.

“You’re harder on that dummy than I am.”

He turned to find Cassandra leaning against the doorway of the infirmary. “You shouldn’t be out of bed yet,” he panted, wiping sweat from his brow.

“If I stay in bed much longer, I am going to strangle the healers — and then where would I be.” She gave a half shrug, arm pinned by her bandages.

In the soft glow from the tavern, she looked better than she had the day before. She angled herself against the door awkwardly. Her hip was stiff and not fully healed. Cullen couldn’t decide if her moving on her own this early was promising or just spoke of her own stubbornness.

“Have you heard?” He resumed his attacks. “About Solas finding the Inquisitor?”

She levered herself to sit in the doorway of the infirmary, resting heavily against the doorframe. “Yes, I heard. I’m glad we finally have a solid lead.” Cullen hit the dummy particularly hard, slicing the end off an arm. “You seem on edge.”

Cullen kicked the wood out of his way while following through his next swing. “I don’t like leaving her fate in the hands of an apostate and unknown magics.”

“You would rather leave Caitlin’s fate in the hands of Corypheus?”

Cullen stopped. “Maker, no!” Cassandra just fixed him with a glare and he sighed. “I’m grateful for any information. But this…” He rested his sword at his side and dragged a hand through the mess of his hair. “This is not an area I’m comfortable with.”

“The Inquisitor inhabits that same area,” Cassandra reminded him. “She is an apostate as well, and the Mark is a form of magic no one understands.”

Cullen looked at the ground, unwilling to meet her eyes. “I’m aware of my… hypocrisy. But Cat lets you forget she’s a mage. Solas seems to revel in it.”

Cassandra made a derisive sound in the back of her throat. “One of the very first things she told me was that she didn’t need a staff to be dangerous. I conceded the point— despite the overwhelming urge to punch her. Yet you think she doesn’t like reminding people that she’s a mage. That’s how you view her?”

“I — No…” he finally admitted, slightly ashamed. “No, that’s just how she lets me view her.” He paused for a moment. "She didn’t want to be a mage, you know.”

He wasn’t even sure why he was telling this to Cassandra. Perhaps he just needed to talk about _Cat_ , not as a mission, but as a person — as the woman he loved.

“Her mother was her clan’s First; when she died, they waited to see if Cat had magic before taking in another mage. One day she accidentally set fire to a bush while bickering with her brother; she said she just got angrier about being a mage and made the fire worse…” He gave a soft chuckle. Once, the idea of an apostate losing control of their magic like that would have horrified him — yet now he was chuckling fondly. “She— she _loves_ her magic… She just didn’t want to be the clan’s First, but Cat loves her magic. It’s just as much a part of her as her pointed ears — and I love her, magic and all.”

Cassandra give him an approving grin. “Good.”

“You’re not the sort to try and have a heart to heart with me,” he told her.

The derisive sound turned into one of thorough disgust. “It is these _potions_. They loosen my tongue.” She rolled her eyes. “I told Varric earlier how much I _loved_ his writing. _That_ was the word I used. The dwarf will hold that over me until the day I have finally had enough and I murder him.”

Cullen continued through with his exercises for a while and Cassandra watched him, offering minor critiques to his form.

“I regret that I won’t be in any condition to help retrieve her,” Cassandra murmured. “I assume you’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“Once we have a location,” he replied, panting once more. “I sent word to Rylen earlier. He knows we are close to having a destination and the troops will be ready to march.”

“Cullen…” Cassandra took a deep breath and he lowered his sword at her pause. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect her. That my shield wasn’t enough.”

“You nearly died! Vivienne _did_ die! I have no doubt that you gave all that you could protecting her. None.”

“Once I was down, they ignored me. Cole shouldn’t have protected me — I shouldn’t have _needed_ him to protect me.”

Cullen took another hard swing at the dummy. “The Inquisitor thought that was the right course of action.” His sword took a notch out of the other arm. “And if she made the wrong decision, now is not the time to be questioning her.”

“Is there a time?” Cassandra asked, confused.

“Once she’s returned,” he growled as he stabbed the canvas and straw, “we may need to have a discussion with her about leaving her support behind.”

“You are angry at her,” Cassandra accused.

Her words pulled him up short.

_Is that it?_

He looked at the thrashing he had given the dummy; it was hardly recognizable.

“Culle— ” Cassandra started to stand up but she doubled over in pain. He rushed over and placed her arm around his shoulder and led her back to her bed.

Cassandra stared at him. “She fought until she couldn’t fight any more.”

“She just gave up,” he growled.

“She made a tactical retreat. Her legs were— ” Her words choked up, either with recent pain or the memory of another pain. “They were _mangled_. She had no way of using her magic. If she had kept fighting, they might have simply cut their losses and killed her.”

He paled at the thought. “You’re right. Maker, you’re right. I’m being an idiot.”

“You’re worried. We all are.” He helped pull the blanket over her and then walked over to where the potions were stored.

“When do you think you’ll be well enough to start walking around? With permission, that is.”

“Soon, I hope. I—”

She was cut off by Varric knocking on the door. “There you are, Curly! Chuckles has news. We’re supposed to meet him in the War Room.”

“Go,” Cassandra told him. “And come see me before you leave.”

“Still in love with my literary talents, Seeker?” Varric was smirking.

Cassandra attempted to point at the door. “Out.”

Cullen walked out, followed by a still-laughing Varric.

* * *

 

The Inner Circle was scattered around the War Room. Sera was leaning against a window sill looking a little tipsy still, but no worse for wear. The other two advisors had placed themselves in their usual locations, likely more comfortable with the habit. Cullen joined them, though it felt wrong that it was Solas on the other side of the table and not the Inquisitor. Solas ignored them and was studying the map, eyes focused on a section in northern Orlais.

“You said you have news,” Cullen prompted, “Did the Inquisitor say where she is?”

Solas looked up and gave a small shake of his head. “She doesn’t know specifically other than with Samson. They took no break the entire trip and were moving at an unnatural pace, so she’s more than a four days ride from Skyhold. Since arriving at their destination, they placed her in a dungeon and had a mage deal with her injuries, and have left her alone.”

“So they’re just leaving her to rot?” Dorian was scowling. “What was the point of even capturing her alive then?”

Solas raise a placating hand up. “Not entirely. They had two guards posted outside and a Tranquil named Maddox — ”

“Maddox?” Cullen cut in.

“Do you know him?” asked Josephine.

“Yes, back in Kirkwall.” He paused, trying to organize his thoughts. “He was a friend of Samson’s — Maddox was why he was kicked out of the Order. He’s with Samson?”

Solas gave a slight nod. “But he doesn’t answer any of her questions. Most of what she has gathered has been from comments made outside her door.”

“And what has she gathered?” Leliana asked.

“They wish to use her in a ritual of some sort.” Solas frowned, still focused on the map while weighing his words carefully. “It’s something Corypheus wishes for her. She doesn’t know what the ritual is, only that it makes the Templars uneasy.”

“Well, that encouraging,” Varric scoffed. “When the horrors drinking red lyrium think something is freaky, you know you’re about to deal with some really freaky shit.”

“And is Corypheus there?” Cullen asked. Fighting a squadron of Red Templars was entirely different facing down Corypheus — not that it would have stopped Cullen.

Solas paused for a moment, puzzling the question over first. “No,” he replied slowly. “I don’t believe so. The red lyrium thins the Veil and causes the host to half bleed over into the Fade, even awake. I could see the Red Templars around her, but saw no hint of Corypheus.”

“So this ritual…” Leliana said. “This is why they wanted her. It must have something to do with the Anchor.”

“We could have guessed as much already,” Cullen said dryly. “But we need to find her before they do _whatever_ it is. Do you have a location or not?”

“I observed things in the Fade I recognized from my travels,” Solas continued. “She’s in a ruined Tevinter temple — which one, I cannot say for certain, but only a small few could be a match. It will be north from here, but likely still in Orlesian borders.”

“If she’s being kept with Samson, we should go to Sahrnia and finish what she started. She was there to find Samson.” Cullen looked at the map, still marking the Inquisitor’s mission. “She’d found letters that said he was running a large operation in Emprise and thought that once there she find out his location.”

Solas pondered the idea briefly but ultimately shook his head no. “I don’t think that will be necessary. When she next sleeps, I can determine precisely where she is. Her grip on the Fade is tenuous, but I will need only moments to finish narrowing down which ruin.”

“So we still have _nothing_ to act upon,” Cullen rumbled out. He was tired of having to just wait and see.

“Not entirely,” replied Solas. “Dorian, you mentioned once that you found some old Imperium maps in the library. Perhaps they will help me recall details that will let me narrow it down further.”

Dorian gave a mock gasp. “I suppose Skyhold’s library isn’t completely useless after all!”

“In the meantime,” Josephine put in, “everyone else should go get some sleep. We will likely need it for the days to come.”

Everyone filed out of the room, leaving Solas behind to wait for Dorian and Leliana to retrieve the maps.

“Is there something I can still help you with, Commander?” Solas asked when he noticed Cullen still hovered in the doorway.

“Did Cat have anything to say…” _for me_ , he left unsaid.

Solas winced slightly. “Yes… Caitlin wished me to tell you that—” and to Cullen’s great surprise, Solas turned a deep shade of red, rising all the way to the tips of his ears.

When he continued to hesitate, Cullen prompted him. “She wanted to say…” _What did Cat say that has him so flustered?_

“Forgive me — it is a rather unconventional message. I fear she was playing a trick, though I am unsure whether it is on you or me.”

“Out with it, I won’t hold it against you,” he assured.

Solas breathed in deeply before saying in a rush, “She asked me to tell you that you make a rather ‘pretty princess.’”

A great roar of unexpected laughter bubbled out of Cullen. Or perhaps it seemed rather large since it was the first hint of anything close to it he had let out since Cat had left.

“The trick is on you then and not me,” Solas said with a returning grin.

“Yes,” Cullen agreed, his face hurting from his large grin. “She…”

 _That brat! He really did speak to Cat!_ Not that he thought Solas had been lying, but the Fade could sometimes stretch the limits of Cullen’s belief.

He tried to pull himself together but a snicker escaped everytime he did. “It was— It was just something she said before she left. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it, I was happy to be of help. And we will get her back,” Solas assured him.

Cullen mouth was still quirked up into a smile. He had been told that several times but for the first time, he _truly_ believed it. Solas really had spoken to Cat and she was _alive_! Her pure cheek — even while being held prisoner — let him believe things would be fine; believe in a way that all the hollow assurances had not done before. They _were_ going to get her back. _He_ was going to get her back. He was going to get to hold her and kiss her and hear her say ‘I love you’ once more.

Cullen shook Solas’ hand. “Thank you,” he said again. “I don’t think you can understand what that means to me.”

Solas gave a small quirk of a smile in return. “I thank you for not hitting me.”

As Cullen let go of his hand, Solas swayed slightly on his feet.

He placed a hand on his shoulder to steady the mage. “Are you alright?”

Solas eyes were distant, roaming like he was searching for something. “I’m fine, I thought—” He buckled over and completely collapsed.

Cullen barely caught him in time. He had been around mages for all of his adult life — he knew what it looked like when a mage entered the Fade — but he had never seen one slip in so suddenly; mid-sentence even.

Solas returned to himself just as quickly. He had hoped that Solas would assure him that there was nothing to worry about, that it was just exhaustion or a quirk of the Fade. But when their eyes connected, the look of pure fear Solas had struck directly at that faint glimmer of hope that had begun to take root within Cullen.

“What is it?” Something was wrong — so wrong that Solas had felt it across the Fade, even in waking.

“Call everyone back!” Solas was frantic, jogging over the a stone bench near the War Table. “I need to see if I can find her…”

“What’s happened?” Cullen demanded.

Solas ignored his question. “Go! Now!” he ordered and slipped into the Fade before he had even fully sat down, leaving Cullen with nothing to do but obey.

Cullen found Josephine still in her office quietly talking to Blackwall. They both turned toward him when burst into the room.

“Cullen, what is it?” Blackwall asked, quick to recognize a crisis.

“I’m not sure,” Cullen breathed out. “Solas wouldn’t say. Just told me to find everyone.”

“I will go look after him,” Josephine said running toward the War Room. “You get the others.”

Cullen raced out of the room with Blackwall on his heels. In the Great Hall, Cullen could see Varric walking toward his usual table with Iron Bull’s silhouette exiting the main doors.

Blackwall grabbed Cullen’s shoulder. “I’ve got this, Cullen. You just keep near Solas — find out what’s going on.”

Cullen nodded and ran back to the War Room, regretting his earlier workout. Now sore and stiff, he felt like he was running through water, not on solid stone.

In the War Room, he found a sweat-drenched Solas and a sobbing Josephine.

“What it is?” Cullen gasped out.

“Oh, Cullen!” Josephine ran to his arms and that small bit of hope died out as he mechanically wrapped his arms around the diplomat.

Solas looked completely changed from when Cullen had left him. Drenched in sweat, trembling in exhaustion, and struggling for air. “I can’t find any trace of the Inquisitor in the Fade,” Solas managed between breaths.

Cullen swallowed before he said flatly, “Cat’s dead.” He wished he’d been able to phrase it like a question. But the fear he had seen in Solas’ eyes earlier had taken away any lie he could have tried to comfort himself with.

Solas shook his head. “I-...I had feared as much as well.”

“Then, what…” Cullen wasn’t even sure what to ask. _If she isn’t dead, then what else could have happened?_

Solas recovered enough to speak. “I swayed when I felt our connection through the Fade snap.” Solas ran a shaking hand over his face. “I looked for her but could only find the Mark.” Solas took a moment again to find enough air. “The Red Templars thoughts make an impression in the Fade, but lack form or structure. I had spared myself the trouble of trying to understand them while I could directly converse with the Inquisitor… I am a fool!” he spat out so suddenly that Josephine startled against Cullen.

“Ju— Just say what it is.” Cullen was sure he didn’t want to hear the rest, but he uncertainty was no better.

Solas dragged a hand over his bald head, wanting to pull at hair that wasn’t there. “Caitlin was not raised near Circle mages or templars, she lacked context for certain nuances. When she said ritual, I took her words at face value — not catching that she had interchanged ‘ritual’ with ‘rite’.” He was shaking, but it maybe have been in fury instead of exhaustion. “They were saying ‘Rite’ not ‘ritual’. To Caitlin, that was the same thing.”

“What are you saying?” Cullen whispered. The word ‘Rite’ had very specific connotations to templars — it would not be used casually. The previous emptiness he’d felt that one horrible night was washing over him again, threatening to drown him.

He didn’t want to hear what Solas had to say. He didn’t want the answer that he feared was coming.

_Death would be kinder…_

But Cullen had asked — and Solas answered.

“They have made Caitlin Tranquil.”

**End Part 1**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you all want to murder me yet? Because it's only going to get more angsty from here...
> 
> Annnddd.... I'm leaving it on this cliffhanger for a few weeks. I'm going to take a week or so to write all of Part Two and then once that's done resume the once every two weeks schedule I was doing with my editor for us to really go over each chapter. I'll likely be posting small drabbles and oneshots though during the hiatus. And I promise, just because there will be a few weeks between now and the next update, this has not been abandoned. I already have way too much written out for me to do that to you or myself.
> 
> But thank you all who have left comments, kudos, and have reblogged it on Tumblr! You are why I keep pushing myself to finish this sad garbage.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back!

**Part 2**

 

The cell was dark but not dank. Unlike the constant moisture from the waterfall at Skyhold, Caitlin’s current prison was dry; oppressively so. The Red Templars gave her water but it never seemed to be enough. And the insufferably annoying hum from the red lyrium did little to improve things. It sank into her mind — a constant whisper drowning her own thoughts, keeping her from true sleep most of the time. What little light she had was from the Anchor: a sickly, undulating green that only nauseated her.

Still, it could have been worse. Other than draining her mana constantly, the templars had left her alone in her large, barren cell. It was a relief, in a way.

_After what they did to Cassandra and Vivienne…_ Just the thought of it had her clutching Cullen’s lucky coin. It had stayed with her through the attack and was the only means she had of keeping her sanity.

Frankly, boredom was her biggest problem. No real light. No access to the Fade or dreams. No books.

_What a laugh…_ she thought dryly. _They could be doing terrible things and I’m just bored._

“ _Just_ bored…” The words came out bitterly. After days of no interaction with anything or anyone, Caitlin was quickly realizing exactly why solitary confinement could be torture. Her heart ached for the boy who was Cole.

She’d tried getting the templars to talk with her but they steadfastly ignored her. And it wasn’t like they couldn’t talk as she had first suspected. No, she could hear them outside her door, whispering in rough, gravelly voices, but voices none-the-less. Nothing she did got a reaction from them. Pleading, insults, jokes. Once she tried to recall a particularly saccharin passage from one of her romance novels… No reply. She’d sit down for tea with the Dread Wolf himself if he would stay to talk.

The worst of it for her was that she was in the middle of a rather juicy book she’d left back in Skyhold. It had been gnawing at her. Would Georgiana choose the dashing Renaldo or would the safe — if a bit boring — Markham capture the heiress’ heart in the end?

_Creators, I hope I get to find out._ _And Varric’s new pages!_ What new twists and turns had the dwarf come up with? And would Cullen figure out where she’d hidden his chess pieces? _By the Dread Wolf I need to get out of here._

She reminded herself that a rescue was imminent. Solas knew where she was now and only Corypheus himself would be able to stop the Inquisition from freeing her. Her brief time with Solas had reinvigorated her and had helped assuage her worries about Cassandra’s survival.

But it was difficult to focus on the positive when Caitlin knew that _something_ was happening. The templars outside her cell had been whispering about it. Not long after her connection with Solas had been broken, the atmosphere outside her cell shifted — tense and waiting. She would likely be quickly regretting her boredom.

_I will survive whatever they do to me_ , she reaffirmed to herself, her grip tightening on the coin. _I will survive — escape even, if the right opportunity presents itself — but I will_ live _, no matter what. I’ll get home, kiss Cullen senseless, finish my book, and then destroy these templars. Even if it’s just pure stubbornness to sustain me._

The sounds of shuffling a key into a lock had her tucking away the coin. It was the first time they’d opened the door since tossing her in — preferring to pass her meals in through a small slot in the door — and the loud groan from the hinges had her flinching after days of near silence. She backpedaled against the rough stone, trying to make herself as small as possible in a corner of the room. Without her magic she had no way of defending herself, so best to present a minimal target. Six Red Templars marched in, all of them the guards she’d seen outside her door.

“What’s going on?” she asked with feigned lightness. “Taking the knife ear out for walkies?” Maybe turning her too sharp tongue on herself would get something from them… _Doubtful_. Or maybe the sleep deprivation was making her a bit delirious. _Likely_.

Without a word, one yanked her to her feet and bound her arms. The contact with another person would have been a relief after being on her own for so long, but crystals were beginning to grow through his gloves. She swallowed her revulsion.

The templar then threw her over his shoulders, likely thinking it would be more efficient to just carry her. It likely was. The Red Templars had marched so _fast_ after her capture, leaving her unable to gauge travel times. They could be all the way to the Anderfels for all she knew — it certainly felt dry enough.

Though they did not blindfold her, the twists and turns of the prison were all viewed from upside down, leaving Caitlin disoriented and unable to properly form a map in her head. She did try to make remember noteworthy landmarks in case if it would help when the Inquisition arrived. It wasn’t long until the reached their destination — an atrium several floors high. Her captor unceremoniously dropped her to the ground and she looked up to see balconies on all every side, Red Templars peering over. Those infected by the blighted lyrium stood out the most, red crystals illuminating the eager faces of those who still looked human. Caitlin felt like she had just been thrown onto a stage — or perhaps a menagerie.

They were unnaturally quiet though. Usually they grunted and groaned; some even creaked with the effort to bend the Red Lyrium in their veins. But the sounds of their struggling, pitiful life was stilled. It didn’t take long for Caitlin to figure out why. Ahead of her, looming in the shadows, was the magister she had faced down on that snowy mountain — Corypheus. The templars were on their best behavior for their Elder One.

Next to him was Samson. Waxen skin and sunken eyes, a suit of armor made almost entirely of Red Lyrium… Caitlin dimly recalled Cullen saying that had his life gone differently, he might have ended up the same way.

_There is no world where my proud commander could have turned into this walking corpse_ , she thought savagely.

So startled was she by Samson’s deathlike visage, Caitlin failed to notice what was in his hand. When she finally recognized the starburst brand, all her bravado failed her. She’d had nightmares as a child about that brand. That wicked brand she had to imagine frequently when Arana wanted to torment her with wild stories about the cruelty of _shems_. That brand that the mere thought of it within Skyhold could keep her awake at night. That brand that would strip her of everything she was. Caitlin tried to scramble away, but she didn’t make it far. Two templars seized her by the arms and forced her on to her knees.

“Please,” she whispered and she hated how it almost came out as a bleat; a lamb to the slaughter.

Her fear of spiders paled in comparison to this. She thought she could never fear anything more than the arachnids that had haunted her for years. _Even the Nightmare_ _had agreed._ But staring at that horrible brand, and knowing the future that awaited her, her heart was tripping over itself in its terror.

Fighting the templars was pointless — she had learned that after her capture, fighting a mountain would be easier. So instead of wasting her energy, Caitlin clutched onto her fear. Cataloguing it as best she could. Holding on to everything that was _her_ before it was stolen. As long as she felt anything, she was alive.

Terrified. That was easy. She felt terrified. Terrified as they heated the lyrium brand. Terrified of what was to come. Terrified of what they would do to her when she would no longer fight back.

She felt remorse that she would never look upon Cullen the same again, never with all the love she hoped he understood. _Creators, he has to know how much I love him._ She’d never thought she could love so deeply, and a _shemlen_ of all things. A tear slipped down her cheek when she pictured his beloved face.

Samson walked over to her, grim faced and with heavy steps. Every thump of his boots on stone made her quiver.

She felt deeply regretful that she couldn’t say goodbye to her brother. After everything he had done for her, he deserved more than the letter she had stashed in her desk drawer at Skyhold. _Let him find happiness now that he no longer has to fret after me_ , she prayed to the gods she barely believed in _._

She felt concern for her clan. Complicated relationship aside, everything they had done — good or ill — had just been to protect her; to protect the magic these templars were about to snuff out. _All that loneliness… All for nothing._

Corypheus watched the process with utter fascination. Eyes shining in the dark, darting between her and the brand.

She felt a small glimmer of hope. Cassandra had lived and she knew how to undo Tranquility. They would find her. They would undo this. They _had_ to undo this. She didn’t want to live as a Tranquil. _By the Dread Wolf, anything but this..._

She felt the cold fire of the brand approaching her forehead. Her chest was heaving with the effort to keep breathing.

She felt…

  

* * *

 

Cullen felt nothing.

Not a _real_ nothing — a lack of any emotion would have been an equal measure of a relief and a concern. Instead he was numb; hollow. It made his head fuzzy and swim anytime he tried to think.

He swallowed back the bile from the back of his throat. Even though he had anticipated Solas’ announcement, he could not process it.

“Wha—” His voice crack, so he swallowed once more. “Are you certain?”

Solas nodded. “I am. I can still find the Mark, so she is alive. But—”

Any reply he was about to make was cut off when Cole appeared in the room. “She’s gone!” Cole screamed and the words knocked the breath from Cullen. “She’s gone! Why is she gone? Why is she not there?” Cole frantically paced between everyone, looking for an answer. The manic look from the night Cat was taken was back, complete with tears and mucus running down his face.

“Cole, calm down,” Josephine said in a soothing voice, despite her tears. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

He stopped his pacing long enough to yell at her. “No! She’s not there! She was always there! So bright, burning, blinding, impossible to not see. But she’s— She’s gone…” Cole’s voice trailed off, and he became suddenly still, shoulders sagging. “She’s gone, but it came here… It started everything and it’s _here_. It can help.” With no explanation for his confusing words, he disappeared once more.

_Not this,_ Cullen told himself. After so many near misses, he’d been waiting for someone to say that Solas was mistaken. But Cole had made it all too real for Cullen. This wasn’t a dream, or a hallucination, or withdrawal, or any other way he could dismiss it.

_I need to be alone,_ he thought. _Alone and away from people before…_ He looked up and realized he had already stumbled away and was in Josephine’s office. He didn’t remember leaving, but no one had stopped him.

More in control of his factories, Cullen heaved himself out into the hall. _Cat’s room?_ he thought, but he feared the sight of the room, of the things she loved and would never care for again… It would tear him apart.

On the walkway between the rotunda and his quarters, Cullen noticed the sky purpling with the hint of dawn as he fumbled with the latch into his office. He locked the door behind him and moved on to the next… the door that he and Cat usually slipped out of to catch a moment alone.

His thoughts were scurrying and he abandoned the door for his desk. He had to write to his family. He had to get them out of Ferelden, out of the South completely. _Tevinter maybe?_ Nowhere was safe now, but perhaps it could buy them sometime until Corypheus ripped the world apart. _Branson will balk but Mia can convince him._

_Maker’s breath, Cat’s brother and her clan… they have to be warned as well._ He pushed himself away from his desk and pulled at his hair. How could he possibly write that letter — to explain that he had failed to protect his love from the worst possible fate?

Cullen paced between his desk and his bookshelf, trying to breathe but couldn’t draw enough air for his lungs.He discarded his mantle, tossing it to the floor. Next came his vambraces, gloves, and gorget, but stalled when he tried loosening the ties near his throat. His hands were trembling, unable to grasp the thin, leather strings.

“I just need some blasted air!” he shouted to his empty office.

_It’s a panic attack,_ his mind unhelpfully supplied. He hadn’t suffered from one in years — not since leaving Kinloch Hold. In a fit of frustration to try and steady his useless hands, he hit the bookshelf, causing it to rattle and several books to fall down.

Cullen inhaled deeply. The wanton destruction momentarily satisfied the empty hole in his chest and let him greedily gulp down several breaths. He eyeballed the bookcase and with a yell he pushed it over. He stared at the overturned piece of furniture, panting from the effort.

_Not enough…_

He grabbed a scattered book from his desk and threw it across the room. He repeated the gesture on another, then another, and another. Then his mug. He grabbed an inkwell and smashed it against the opposite wall, black liquid and glass spraying everywhere. With another cry of anger, he kicked over his chair, the books typically piled on it sliding across the floor to land in the spilled ink. He grabbed the chair he had for guests and smashed it against the wall. He made to swipe off his desk but the motion drew him up short.

_Cat… That first night…_

Cullen had tried so hard to hold himself back, to not be an utter brute and give her everything she deserved; a soft bed, a roaring fire, maybe he would even read some awful poetry. But when she looked up at him with those beautiful eyes filled with so much desire — desire for _him_ — he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He’d swept his desk off and finally gave in.

_And for weeks later, Cat broke out into giggles if anyone so much as mentioned a desk._ Just the thought of her mischievious laughter caused everything else to break through his rage.

Cullen crumpled to the floor, crouched on all fours. He still wasn’t getting enough air but now because his breath was being released in huge gasping sobs and bellowing yells that bounced off the stones beneath him. His fingers dug into the cracks of the floor, trying to just get a grasp on _something_ while his whole life spiraled apart.

He had not realized all the plans he had laid out in his head — settling down, waking next to each other every morning, watching her still trying to cheat at chess while her dark hair was streaked with grey… A part of him had just assumed that was how they were going to spend the rest of their days once the war was over.

And now — now there was no chance for it. Cat— His vibrant, commanding, on occasion silly Cat— She was gone. She would never tease him again, or look at him with love, or even come back triumphant after saving some small town. She’d live out her days dull and pliable and that secret world he’d been unconsciously planning was destroyed.

But this didn’t just _feel_ like the end of the world. It truly was.

_What are we going to do?_

This wasn’t just Cat dead. No, this was worse. The Anchor lost to the Inquisition and Cat was just a tool now for Corypheus to do with as he willed. How were they going to stop Corypheus from ripping another hole in the sky to unleash demons upon the world?

All the grief and fear from the last several days — constantly pushed aside by small rays of hope — was now free to drown him. The trembling in his hand spread out, his whole body shaking. He really did feel like the helpless princess, trapped in his tower just as Cat had joked. Had it only been just moments before that he’d laughed about it? Now he just let out a devastated moan.

Cullen’s arms could no longer support his weight so he rolled back to rest against his front of his desk. He sat there for a great long while, lost in his own sorrow. The numbness was coming back and he let it wash over him, his mind only focused on the instincts it needed to keep him alive.

He couldn’t say for sure if he was actually awake and it was a vivid memory, or if he had dozed off and it was a lucid dream… He had no memory of closing his eyes, but it looked to him like he was back in Haven, and he knew it was the day after they had just openly declared themselves the Inquisition. It was early. Not so early he didn’t already have his men running drills, but early enough that the civilians in camp were only just starting their day.

So it was a great surprise to see the newly proclaimed Herald of Andraste marching past him toward the forest. It had been the light of the mark that had caught his attention, but he actually watched her because every instinct he had screamed that she was a mage. Yet, she didn’t wear any of the shapeless Circle robes he was used to, opting for more practical Dalish leathers.

It was only a brief glimpse before she disappeared into the treeline, but her eyes were tight, her mouth pinched, and her hands were clenched into a fist. She looked absolutely livid.

Cullen had not been properly introduced to her yet. Only had read over Leliana’s report that Josephine had handed off to him; had given her a nod in greeting as he passed her in camp. But seeing her walk away from Haven in a fury was a cause for concern. After proving that she could successfully close the tears in the Veil, she was their best chance at fixing this calamity and losing her would be a disaster. Though Cullen was hardly the best choice to calm her down, for lack of anyone else on hand he followed her.

The Herald’s footprints led into the forest where she was just sitting in a snowbank, her arms draped around her leather clad legs. Cullen could hear sounds of soft weeping, her cheeks streaked with tears, but her face was still marred by a scowl.

Anger. Anger was why he followed her. Anger was something he could handle. But comforting a weeping woman whom he had said less than five words to was a bit out of his area of expertize.

_Maybe Cassandra or Leliana will be around…_

Cullen turned to leave, to quietly sneak away unnoticed, but a traitorous twig buried in the snow snapped under his feet. He froze when the Herald’s eyes met his.

Despite the blotchy face and bloodshot eyes, her expression had gone absolutely flat and cold; all previous emotion completely gone. Had he not heard her crying just moments earlier, Cullen would have blamed the frigid air or allergies for her appearance. He’d never seen someone so thoroughly suppress their emotions that quickly.

She held a hand out like she was seconds away from casting.

_A mage… Why is Andraste’s chosen a mage?_

“Forgive me,” Cullen managed to get out. He dared not move, from more than just awkwardness. He needed to be sure he had enough energy to Silence her if she tried to throw a spell at him. “I didn’t mean to pry. I saw you leave camp and I was worried.”

“So you decided to spy on me?” she snapped back.

“I—” Cullen fumbled for words that wouldn’t make this situation worse. “Not exactly. I saw that you were upset. You’re our best hope of closing the Breach and…” He glanced at her Dalish markings and ventured a guess as to what could have caused her leaving Haven in tears. “If any of my men said anything offensive or hurtful—”

She cut him off. “You’re that _templar_ I was told about.” She spat out the word while looking him up and down. Cullen wondered what she saw — an annoyance or a threat? “The Commander of the army here, correct?” When she cocked her head, it softened her clear loathing with just a touch of curiosity.

“Former templar,” he clarified. “I left the Order. But yes, I command the army here.” A lifetime of military training forced him to stand a little straighter as he talked about his service record.

“But you _were_ a templar once, yes?” she asked and he nodded. “So you’ve dealt with Tranquils then?”

Cullen blinked, trying to follow the train of thought. He had assumed that he’d have to reprimand someone for calling her a ‘knife-ear.’ _What do Tranquils have to do with anything?_ “Yes,” he confirmed. “Frequently.”

When she stood, it was like lyrium swirling: chaotic and yet smooth and consistent. She pointed back toward Haven. “Then can you explain how anyone could do _that_ to someone else?” she yelled.“Why do _that_? To be cut off from _everything_ you are? To be rendered so _helpless_?”

Cullen sighed, and prepared himself for an argument he’d had numerous times over the years. “The Rite of Tranquility is not performed lightly. It’s only in cases where their magic puts them or others at risk.” Or so he kept telling himself. When he took over as Knight Commander, seeing how far Meredith’s corruption and madness had gone was a major factor in his decision to follow Cassandra. He knew that the Rite was not always carried out justly— But bringing up his own history would not help keep this mage with the Inquisition.

She snarled at his perfunctory reply. “Even if their magic puts them at risk — magic that they were just born with — losing their life is a fair punishment?”

He took a step back away from her, gripping his pommel tightly and kept trying to pull at his reserves for that Silencing. He didn’t know this mage and didn’t know if she could be trusted to control her magic. “It’s not meant as a punishment, it’s to let them live,” he insisted, ignoring the part of him that knew otherwise. “If that mage was possessed by a demon, there would be no other options. They are still alive at least.”

She clenched her hand and looked away from him, mouth pursed and shaking. She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before she coldly said, “Don’t tell me that they’re alive. That’s not living.” She clenched her fist once more and Cullen thought she was going to punch him.

_Damn it to the Void! Why did I stop taking it? Even a cleansing would be something!_ He couldn’t get a fix on any of his abilities, the power just slipping away from him.

Unaware of his struggles, she marched up to him and tried to stare him down. “If you can’t laugh or get angry or fall in love, why call that alive?”

Cullen couldn’t find an immediate reply. He’d debated this many times with many others before, but with what he knew of Kirkwall, his usual rebuttals seemed shallow at best. Three years ago, he knew it to be the right course of action. Now it seemed too harsh, too permanent. And in facing her anger, all of his previous justifications turned to ash in his mouth.

When she didn’t get a reply, she continued. “Have _you_ done that to someone?”

It was the worst question she could have asked him and Cullen floundered. He was supposed to be _helping,_ making sure that she stayed with the Inquisition. _How can I explain without proving to be the exact monster she’s thinking of_ — especially when he knew that several of the cases he oversaw were falsely executed. “I-It was my duty. _I_ never used it as a punishment. And when I took over as Knight Commander, it was only used on mages who had asked to be made Tranquil.”

The dalish woman’s mouth dropped open in shock. “How could _anyone_ ask for _that_!” she yelled in disgust, her voice loud enough to startle some animal from its hiding spot. She composed herself once more. Quieter, though her words still contained heat, “ _Why_ would anyone ask for that?”

For the first time since finding her, Cullen was confindant in his response. “Some fear their Harrowing or their magic. Some find Tranquility easier to face than the chance of being possessed. It is meant as an act of mercy.”

That _at least is the truth_ , he mentally added _._ _However the Rite might be abused, mercy should always be the intention behind it._

She folded her arms across her chest and looked away disgusted. “Then they are choosing death just as surely as if they took their own life.” It had begun to snow, dampening any other sounds from the forest. The silence was why he could clearly hear her when she murmured, “ _I_ would choose death; it would be more straightforward and far kinder.”

She shook her head violently to free it of the snow, her dark hair obscuring her elvish markings until she tucked it behind her pointed ears once more. When she looked up at him, he was struck by how expressive her eyes were. Cullen wondered why he thought all the emotion was wiped from her face earlier. It was all in her eyes.

“What happens to them… after...?” she asked quietly.

“To the Tranquils?” he asked, matching her soft tone, unwilling to break the stillness created by the snow. “Usually they end up staying with the Circle, making enchantments or working in shops. Some—”

“Not to their bodies — not that empty husk,” she growled out, the her low tone now used as a threat. But once more she pulled on her tight control of her emotions. “To _them_. To whatever made them _them_. When they are made Tranquil, they’re cut off from the Fade. So when they die, do they find their way back to the Fade? Do they just stay trapped in their bodies? What happens after?”

“I-” Cullen wasn’t sure how to reply. No one had asked this before and he had no pre-formed rebuttal. “No one knows.” _Maker, someone should know._ I _should know._

“Of course — no one ever cared enough to find out.” She looked back out to the forest, wrapping her arms around herself. “Death would be kinder.”

“Herald-” he started.

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped. “I don’t believe in your Maker or His Bride.”

“Kate-lynn, then,” Cullen amended.

She gave a rather impressively unladylike snort. “Don’t call me that either.”

“That is your name, correct?” He had seen it on the reports he’d been given.

“Nope!” she replied, popping the ‘p’. The irreverent sound broke the tension that was hanging over Cullen. “It’s Caitlin. It’s just like the animal.” It did not at all sound like the animal; the vowels too long and soft. “My father was a city elf. So I get a common tongue name as interpreted by the Dalish. Kind of a mess. But that’s what happens when you let a 10 year old name a baby. My brother wanted a cat. He got a little sister instead.” She glanced up at him and Cullen once more noticed her large, green eyes. When their eyes met, a deep flush began to creep over her face. (Likely mirroring his own embarrassment at being caught staring.) “I’m babbling… Cat’s fine too.”

“Cat, then,” he said. The interlude about her name (and her fascinating eyes) had made him forget his point.

Caitlin wiped at her face. Not a delicate swipe, but a gesture more suitable for mud than for tears. She offered him a truce in the form of a small smile, which he returned. He noticed it crinkled her markings just a little. He stamped down his curiosity about the ink on her face, unsure if asking about it would be impolite. He’d never been this close to a Dalish before and those swirls and lines had always represented unchecked, wild magic to him. But now that he could see them closer, he realized how elegant and intricate they were. They were beautiful.

“I’m sorry about…” she waved her hand through the air, “all _that_. The last few days have been…” She huffed out a breath that hung before her in the cold air. “ _Trying_. And there was this other elf and…” She waved her hand dismissively, as if to clear away her point. “Doesn’t matter. You just caught me in a private moment and I snapped.”

“I’m entirely at fault,” he insisted. He’d long taken his hand off his pummel and relaxed his stance. But now was unsure of what to do with his arms that didn’t look aggressive or combative. “I had not intended to spy, but I was still intruding.” She quietly nodded her acceptance but he continued. “We have asked a lot of you and you’re a long way from your home.”

“Still…” she shrugged. “Can’t exactly be inspiring to see your alleged savior halfway to hysterics. It’s just—” She shuffled her feet. “I’ve never seen a Tranquil before.”

“Never?” Cullen asked in disbelief. Leliana said that Clan Lavellan didn’t skirt normal society and actively traded with the humans nearby. How is it she’d never met a Tranquil before this?

She just gave another artless shrug in reply. “My clan doesn’t have a strong magical line and my brother is a _bit_ over protective. First time out on my own really. And look where it’s gotten me.” She swung her arms out gesturing to either the forest she’d been crying in, the town she’d been held prisoner in, or the Breach she was now responsible for closing. “I knew _of_ Tranquils but just assumed the kids were exaggerating just to scare me. ‘Watch out, or the templars will get you and turn you into a puppet!’” She shook her head and let out a shuddering breath. “I can’t believe it’s actually worse than I ever imagined.”

“The Dalish tell ghost stories about Tranquils and templars?” he asked, a bit ashamed of how his voice waviered.

Her grin said that she’d notice it. “Worried?”

Cullen cleared his throat. “I’ve lived in a Circle most of my adult life. I know how ridiculous tales of templars can get, and that’s with mages and templars living side by side.”

Her grin slipped into confusion. “So you’re saying that templars don’t keep baby nugs in their armor?”

Cullen sputtered. “What? That’s— Why would we—”

“So you can lick them…? To sleep standing up?” Her face was so sincere, large eyes clear and honest.

He fixed her with a glare. “You’re teasing me,” Cullen said dryly.

She giggled then. “Well, you made it rather easy.”

“So, no ghost stories then?”

Caitlin’s smile stayed, but the humor in her eyes dimmed just a bit. “As a whole, no. But you know how it can be when you’re young. If the other children think you’re getting unfairly rewarded, they find ways to make it not such a reward.” The quirk of her lips was dismissive, childhood bullying a thing of the past.

Cullen still wasn’t sure what to do with his arms so he gestured to himself. “Am I as frightening as the other children led you to believe?” It likely wasn’t the right conversational path to go down, but he had to make sure she wasn’t scared of him; to win her over. _It’s for the Inquisition_ … he assured himself.

She giggled again. This bright, thrilling thing that filled him and carried throughout the silent woods. He wanted to hear it again.

Caitlin canted her head, looking him up and down. “Well, it’s a bit hard to be afraid when the templar’s mantle is getting soggy with snow and looks more like a drowned fennec than a — what?” Her nose crinkled and she cocked her head the other direction. “A bear?”

Cullen’s cheeks burned and he rubbed the back of his neck. “A lion,” he grumbled. “The helm makes it obvious.” The symbol of Orlais wouldn’t have been his first choice (or even his second, third, or fourth) but he wanted something imposing on the battlefield and their blacksmith hadn’t made a mabari helm.

She smirked and Cullen was certain that grin said that she was not afraid of him; not one bit. “Of course,” she nodded sagely.

Retrospectively, Cullen realize it was then that he felt the first stirrings of attraction. He told her as much months later, and Cat laughed at him, saying that covered in snot was _not_ attractive. But he hadn’t seen snot or anything of the sort. He saw a very lively young woman who cared deeply, even for a Tranquil she had just met. And she had been willing to hear him out, even after seeing the worst aspects of a templar’s duties.

Cullen came back to himself still on the floor of his ruined office propped up against the front of his desk. Sun was full up and he watched his mantle soak up the spilled ink. His throat was raw and his lips dry, but he didn’t have the energy to bother wetting them.

This was his punishment. This waking nightmare was because of all the abuses that took place right under his nose for seven years. And was he _really_ so ignorant? Or had he just chosen to be? Had not even thought about the mechanics of it all until Cat had asked him about it. He had turned a blind eye as mages who had already passed their Harrowings were made Tranquil, all out of fear of blood magic. Now that he could fully appreciate the barbarity of what he allowed, he knew this is what he deserved.

But Cat… For her to pay the toll… It wasn’t right that she was made to suffer for _his_ past crimes.

‘Death would be kinder,’ she had said. _That_ was something he could do. He was not able to spare her this fate… but he could free her from it.

Solas had said he was close to figuring out her location. Cullen would use that information to find her and get her out of the clutches of Corypheus and the templars who turned their backs on the Chantry. Once he may have been ignorant of the crimes against the Tranquils, but he was a different man then and he would not leave Cat to that fate.

And once he found her…

He heard a thump but paid it no mind until a still very battered Cassandra was grabbing his jaw and forcing him to face her. “Snap out of it, Cullen. We can fix this. We can reverse the Tranquility.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT UPDATE 10/14: OH MY GOD THERE IS ART NOW!!! I commission triaelf9 for the above picture and just LOOK AT IT!!! This is so amazing!  
> \---- 
> 
> I am so sorry about how long this took to get uploaded. My summer just became insanely busy. Small child had surgery (minor but still), went out of town for a while, had some of my own health problems, and to be honest, I just kind of got myself in a funk, both artistically and mentally.
> 
> To top it all off, my usual editor's own life got insanely busy and she was unable to edit for me. Which just freaked me out. She really helped me go over the other chapter with a fine tooth comb and without her I was completely frozen in fear that it wouldn't be as good. So if you have noticed any drop in quality, it is all me (and please let me know! If I don't get feedback, I'll assume I'm doing fine.)
> 
> But now, I think I'm getting out of my funk a little (Trespasser certainly helped from the artistic end) and want to get back to publishing the regularly. The whole of part 2 is all written just needs to be edited a great deal. But it won't be a three month break again, I can promise that.
> 
> All that said, I hope you've enjoyed this update and you'll stick with me through the rest of this.


End file.
